


Pride or Patience

by malignantillustrator (Vaud)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst and Humor, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-13
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-04-04 06:27:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 62,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4128244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vaud/pseuds/malignantillustrator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Apostate and runaway Grey Warden Anders may have found a new friend in the handsome, if brusque, Leopold Hawke- and possibly more, if he could get the bearded mage to trust him, to see him that way.  But the moment things look like they're going his way, a mysterious elf arrives to captivate Hawke's interest. </p>
<p>Inspired by, and based on "Friendly Concern" by KaerWrites, from the Anders perspective.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Friendly Concern](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3460787) by [KaerWrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaerWrites/pseuds/KaerWrites). 



One foot in front of the other, that was the entirety of his focus. Everything that he could manage at the moment. It was a dangerous lapse in awareness for a place like Darktown, to be sure, but a necessary one, for Anders just now. He could not think about the blood on his hands, nor the calamity that was tonight’s scene at the Chantry. Could not and did not, by grace of the Maker, or perhaps with the help of Justice. He neither knew nor especially cared, only walking through the bowels of Kirkwall, past greasy cook fires and huddling refugees, Hawke and company at his back. And, despite this long walk from Hightown, none of them spoke nor asked questions of him, and for this, Anders was grateful. For had they done so, had they demanded explanations before he could, at the least, wash his hands, he was not entirely sure he would have made it back to the clinic.

But here they were, now passing between his lanterns, usually aglow with welcoming light to guide the needy to his doorstep, now dark, as was the room beyond the sturdy door to his little sanctum. He paused just inside to light a lamp, then went to the wash basin. Sounds of the others stepping in behind him echoed in the dim little room, but he focused on pouring water. The vessel rattled softly against the basin as a tremor passed through his hand. Despite the feculent nature of the Undercity, the healer always ensured he had fresh, pure water onhand, and was dually grateful for it, now, splashing into the chipped bowl. Finally, he submerged his hands and scrubbed them together, working loose the drying blood from the creases in his hands. Karl’s blood. No. That was not Karl any longer… Anders drew a shaking breath and turned around to face his guests, grabbing a rag to dry his hands. 

Hawke stepped forward, his broad frame seeming to fill the little room as he jerked his bearded chin at the apostate. “So, let me guess,” he drawled darkly, “This when you tell me you’re an abomination?" 

"You’re wrong.” Anders answered wearily, tossing the rag aside and rubbing at his eyes with finger and thumb. “But not far wrong. I…” He hesitated a moment, dropping his hand and peering at the others. “This is hard to explain.” He took a deep breath and tried his best to do just that. “When I was in Amaranthine, I met a spirit of Justice who was trapped outside the Fade. We became friends. And he recognized the injustice that mages in Thedas face every day.”

Hawke appeared utterly dissatisfied, with his folded arms and narrowed eyes. “So, I wasn’t so far off with that ‘abomination’ thing?" 

Anders shook his head slowly, lowering his eyes for a moment. "To live outside the Fade, he needed a host. I offered to help him… We were going to work together,” he lifted his eyes to Hawke’s own, willing the man to understand, “bring justice to every child ever ripped away from his mother to be sent to the Circle. But…” His brow furrowed and he glanced away again, feeling an unpleasant shadow of sorrow stirring. “I guess I had too much anger. Once he was inside me, he… changed.”

“That didn’t look like a happy, benevolent spirit from where I was standing,” Hawke challenged, his chisled features set in stony lines. Maker’s Breath, but the man was fairly bristling. Anders wondered if Hawke hadn’t already counted him a lost cause.

“The templars will think the same,” Hawke’s brother, Carver, added. “We’re friends with a monster.”  _Friends…_ Well that was something at least, wasn’t it just? But -  _monster_?

“Since when is justice happy?” Anders asked of them, voice hardening with the frustration rising within. “Justice is righteous. Justice is hard.” His tone softened then as he felt that sadness inside him stir again. “But my anger… when I see templars now, things that have always outraged me, but I could never do anything about… He comes out. And he is no longer my friend Justice.” He grimaced a bit, the telling bitter as the sorrow inside. “He is a force of vengeance. And he has no grasp of mercy.”

Hawke raised a hand, forstalling any further discussion. “I just need your Grey Warden expertise, not a diatribe on your strange personal habits.”

Anders winced, and pulled a packet from his coat pocket. “Here. These are all the documents I have for this area.” He handed them over, adding, “I can understand if you would rather me not join you personally. I cannot control my need for vengeance. I would ask no one to take on the danger of traveling with me.”

Hawke glanced at the packet in hand, then nodded once, turning away. The others began to file out the door, before him. 

“I will be here in my clinic if you need me,” Anders said softly to the man’s back, disappointment and loneliness joining the sorrow inside him. So much for friends.

Hawke paused, for just a moment, glancing over a shoulder at him. Their eyes met for perhaps a trio of heartbeats, and then he left, closing the door behind himself.

Alone, Anders felt his face crumple as the tide of emotions Justice had held at bay came crashing in upon him. He turned to drop unceremoniously onto his cot, burying his head in his hands. It was going to be another long night.


	2. Chapter 2

As the day crawled by, Anders had struggled to find things to occupy his time and distract his mind. He had swept the clinic, scrubbed his tables down, darned several pairs of socks, and set out a fresh saucer of milk, all before his first patient of the day came in; a grubby child with a wrenched ankle. It was a simple fix. Honestly, something any wise woman or hedge doctor could have seen to. But the healer was grateful for the distraction provided by the wailing child and her silent, but clearly concerned elder brother. Shortly, with ankle good as new, the girl scampered out of the clinic, her guardian giving quiet words of thanks before hurrying out after her.  
  
“Watch yourself,” a humorless voice said from outside the door, and Anders snapped his head ‘round, his fight-or-flight response pricked for the briefest of moments before he recognized the large body stepping backwards to avoid collision with the children.   
  
He met that fierce amber gaze, heaving a soft sigh of relief, and stepped forward with pulse still thundering, adrenaline still singing in his veins. “Hawke?”  
  
The large man lifted his hand to his mouth, slicking his first finger and thumb, and reached out to pinch out the flame in the lantern outside the door, before letting himself into the clinic. “Look, you remembered,” he said dryly, closing the door behind himself.  
  
At this, Anders folded his arms, watching the other mage guardedly. “How can I help?” He hadn’t forgotten his previous offer made to the Fereldan, but he was, quite frankly, surprised that Hawke had returned. But then he noticed what was clearly blood splattering the other mage’s boots, the gash across his arm.  
  
Hawke, seemingly unconcerned with neither blood nor wound, let his eyes trail around the room, idly scratching at his beard as he helped himself, uninvited, to a chair. “How are you, Anders?” He asked instead.  
  
Focused now on the gash, Anders stepped toward Hawke, if not quite laying hands to the man just yet. “Fine,” he answered quickly, steering the conversation away from himself. “Things are slow around here…which is good. For the refugees, I mean. I’d rather people didn’t hurt themselves and need my services.”  
  
Hawke’s eyes rolled upwards toward the blond, his lips pressing into a thin line as he looked him over. And then he frowned, large hands twitching slightly atop his knees. “That’s not what I asked,” he said, quietly.  
  
“What happened to your arm?” Anders asked, pointedly ignoring the prompting. He lifted his eyes from the bleeding gash to Hawke’s face, now noting the displeasure evident. Uh oh.  
  
“Footpad,” he said shortly, his gaze not leaving Anders.  
  
The healer inclined his head. “Honestly,” he sighed softly, “I’m having a rough time with… what happened at the Chantry,” he admitted, in trade for the answer Hawke had given him. It was only fair, he supposed.  
  
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Hawke said. “What are you doing to cope?” Very blunt and direct.  
  
Anders lifted his gaze to Hawke’s face, mildly surprised - but appreciative of his concern. “Staying busy, or trying to.” He spread his hands.  
  
The big man’s lips twitched, very nearly a smile, as he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “And here I’ve scared all your patients away.”  
  
Anders laughed softly.  _Maker, how long had it been since he’d laughed?_  “I’m afraid there were none to scare. But you look as though you could use a healer’s touch, yourself.” He gestured to the arm. “Let me clean that up for you.”  
  
Hawke glanced down at it, giving a soft snort as he flicked dried blood off one end of the rather nasty looking gash. “Just a scratch,” he said. “Could have taken care of it myself. Habit not to, I guess.” He seemed to consider for a moment before extending the arm. “Alright. Let’s see how you work.”  
  
Anders grinned and reached out to take Hawke’s forearm in both hands, leaning in and turning it this way and that to get a good look. The gash seemed to be jagged, but clean. Certainly nothing he couldn’t handle. “It’s probably good that you let it bleed. It washed the wound. Let’s see.” He gripped Hawke’s arm with his left hand, bringing the right to hover over the gash. A cool blue light coalesced in his palm, forming a tiny sphere, before dispersing down into the afflicted limb. Severed tissues drew together and knit closed, the entire process taking moments only, leaving a thin pink line of new skin, the only sign the wound had existed, save all the blood of course.  
  
Anders released his hold on that thick, firm limb and turned to pour fresh water into his wash basin, grabbing a clean rag to soak. “Just a moment, and I’ll have it clean as new,” he said over a shoulder.  
  
“Don’t bother; the effect is better this way,” Hawke said, flexing his arm. “The…spirit. How often does it interfere?”  
  
Anders turned, dripping rag in hand, his brows lifting. “You mean Justice,” he said softly, more in comprehension than question. “He doesn’t interfere at all,” he said, then clarified, “not with anything healing related. And usually not at all.”  
  
“You can’t lose control of something like that. If I’m going to use you, I need to trust there won’t be any further incidents.”  
  
He cocked his head to one side.  _Use me?_  he thought, then said, “What happened at the Chantry was a very special circumstance, you understand. Karl…was a dear friend. Seeing him-” he bit down on the words. Some fat lot of good it would do to lose control just talking about not losing control. His brow furrowed as he continued. “I was so angry… I slipped, but that won’t happen again.” He met Hawke’s stare.  
  
“I expect you to understand this,” Hawke said bluntly. “If it comes to it, I will do as I need to.”  
  
“I believe that,” Anders told him, holding his gaze. “And I do understand.”  
  
Hawke stared at him for a beat longer before nodding and rising. “Come on,” he said, moving to the door.  
  
Anders turned to hang the rag on the lip of the basin, shrugged into his jacket, and then collected his staff, before following Hawke out the door. He paused long enough to lock up. Despite being a healer who helped anyone who had need, for free, with a community of grateful refugees watching his back, so to speak, this was Darktown. 

A few steps outside the clinic waited the dwarf Varric and Hawke’s brother, Carver - far enough that they ought not have been able to hear the conversation, but close enough that they could easily have run to Hawke’s aid, should he have needed to put down the 'abomination’. The sight of them did not so much as give Anders pause, instead, he simply nodded to them each in turn. He noticed a lurid purple shawl draped over Carver’s arm. _Odd, that._  
  
The two didn’t miss a beat falling in step with Hawke, and Varric didn’t so much as pause in the story he was telling. “-pants around his ankles, entire room of Chantry sisters staring at him,” he was saying.  
  
Anders arched a brow, glancing at the dwarf. “Well, that is certainly something to walk into,” he commented lightly.  
  
Carver, chortling nearly too hard to speak, said “No, you- you have to hear the beginning,” and the dwarf, good naturedly, started over.   
  
“So, I knew this guy, named himself king of Darktown, ten or so years back. Decent guy, dumb as a brick, absolute shit at cards. So this one day-” The dwarf’s voice carried them as they ascended to the better part of the city.  
  
Anders kept pace with the trio of friends, silently observing them, the flow of conversation, and the synergy of their relationship. He was the outsider, after all, yet they had brought him along, for reasons unknown. It wasn’t until a break in the conversation that he suddenly took note of their surroundings, with dismay. “Hightown,” he muttered unhappily.  
  
“Mind your Ps and Qs,” Varric advised with a chuckle.  
  
“Not where we’re going,” Hawke grunted, the first he’d said since leaving the clinic.  
  
“Where  **are**  we going, exactly?” Anders asked, his curiosity getting the better of him at last.  
  
Rather than answer, Hawke turned and walked into a nearby establishment. The Blooming Rose. The healer’s steps faltered for the first time, though only for a moment, before he followed Carver and Varric into the bordello. “Alright,” he said quietly, “so why…?”  
  
“A little tip, Blondie,” Varric said. “Asking questions is usually a waste of time.”  
  
Hawke took the shawl Carver had been carrying and left them to approach the bar. The lady tending the bar pointed, and the bearded man went as directed, vanishing down a hall.  
  
Carver frowned unhappily. “He could’ve at least let me return it. He made me carry the damn thing.”  
  
This all only made Anders want to ask more questions, of course, but he stifled the urge. “Well that wasn’t very nice of him,” He said instead, to Carver, “why don’t you go with him?”  
  
Carver looked at him in disbelief. “Go with him? Do you even hear yourself?”  
  
“Hi Carver,” greeted a redhead in a sultry voice as she passed. He immediately went scarlet.  
  
“Or you could go with her,” Anders drawled, pointing at the departing woman.  
  
“S-she just guessed my name,” the warrior said. “I’ve never seen her in my life. In fact, I’ve never set foot in here before. What-?”  
  
“Missed you, Carver,” called a brunette.  
  
“Perhaps  _she_  told the redhead your name?” Anders grinned.  
  
“Oh, this is too good,” Varric said as Carver sputtered and grew redder still. “Let’s see who else can guess his name.”  
  
“It was ONE time!”  
  
“What was one time?” Hawke had returned, sans shawl.  
  
Anders smiled wide, but wasn’t about to get in the middle of it. Carver carried a huge sword, after all.  
  
“Excuse me,” came a sibilant voice at the healer’s ear. Startled, Anders sidestepped and turned to find a gaudily dressed nobleman leering at him. “I say, are you available? I can make your time more worthwhile than this _rabble_.” He flicked his wrist at the others.  
  
The others stiffened to attention, exchanging glances. It was Hawke who laughed first. Great knee-slapping guffaws, his powerful body bent double.  
  
Anders went as scarlet as Carver had been moments ago, and to the nobleman said, through gritted teeth, “Not interested.”  
  
“Suit yourself,” the man huffed and flounced away.  
  
Anders smeared a hand down his face, then looked to Hawke, bemused. The other mage was still chuckling a bit.  
  
“What you need is a drink,” Varric said, taking mercy on him. “Not here, they cut their booze with sawdust. I know a place - not much better, but at least it’s too dark to see what you’re drinking.”  
  
Anders exhaled a soft laugh. “Yes. A drink. Maker’s breath, I could use one.” He looked to Hawke, who was, apparently, the little group’s unspoken leader.  
  
The look seemed to irritate Carver - particularly once he realized Varric was waiting, too. “Yes! Let’s go!” He said.  
  
Without waiting, Anders turned for the door and led the way out into the street. As they set out, Carver charged ahead, still red faced and defiant. Varric hung back with Hawke, and Anders was able to overhear much of their conversation.   
  
“What did you get for returning the shawl?”  
  
“Only a sovereign. Every little bit helps I guess.”  
  
Anders frowned, thinking back to Hawke’s words in the clinic.  _If I’m going to use you…_  He wondered, not for the first time, what his part in the venture to the bordello was, exactly. Or perhaps there was more to come, this evening? Or maybe Hawke and his friends were simply acquainting themselves with him a bit more before getting to what it was they wanted from him.  _Andraste’s tits… They want to butter me up and drag me to the Deep Roads._  He grimaced at the thought.  
  
“So you found a lost article?” He asked, before thinking better of asking, as Varric had warned.  
  
“Hawke has a gift for showing up just where he’s needed,” Varric drawled, earning a grunt from the man in question. Though Hawke seemed unamused, he continued. “I can’t believe all you took was some coin.”  
  
“Wasn’t that the point?”  
  
“I thought for sure she’d be a little more grateful, that’s all. Wouldn’t hurt you to have some fun.”  
  
Hawke grunted again.  
  
Anders shot a casual glance over his shoulder at Hawke, hoping the man’s expression would provide further insight.  
  
“Fun doesn’t put food on the table, or fund expeditions,” he said sternly.  
  
“No, but it might cure that problem with your face,” the dwarf chuckled.  
  
“Perhaps he’s picky,” Anders offered casually, eyes forward again, more to hide the little grin on his face from the man and dwarf behind him, than to appear disinterested. “Looking for just the right one? Some people have standards.” He added teasingly.  
  
“That’s some pickiness. In all the time I’ve known the big lug-”  
  
“You’ve known me two weeks.”  
  
“I’ve yet to see him have fun,” Varric finished.  
  
“That’s a shame,” Anders said with mock solemnity. “ _Truly._ ”  
  
Hawke grunted again, and when Anders glanced back at him to flash a playful smile, the bearded mage may have even looked uncomfortable. Varric was fearless, showing no concern for rousing the man’s ire. 

“I have more important things to do,” Hawke ground out. Then a beat later, “In any case, I would hate to interfere in Carver’s game. They would never look at him the same, after me.”  
  
“HEY!” 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Shadows were lengthening in the sleek marbled lanes of Hightown’s market district, the vendors, one and all, packing up their wares to call it a day. Carver still led the way, circling wide the guardsmen on watch. Anders followed, paying far closer attention to their path now, then on the way in, with Hawke and Varric bringing up the rear.

“So this other place you mentioned..?” Anders prompted the dwarf.

“What do you want to know about it?” Varric asked. “It’s a shithole, but I love it.”

They began to descend a broad stair, trading fine architecture and polished trappings of the affluent quarter for a view of the bleak, industrial Lowtown, flanked by the shipping district, spread out below them. More distantly, the Waking Sea, yet visible from this height, and the Gallows, looming ominously in the bay. It was the latter that always evinced an icy chill down the mage’s spine, as well as a faint stirring of outrage he did well to suppress.

“Does this place have a name? Or are we crawling into a literal hole?” Anders asked in a tone that spoke to the fact that he wouldn’t be bothered by either option.

“Don’t be mistaken. The Hanged Man is most definitely a hole.”

“Oh, that isn’t ominous at all.” He replied lightly.

Varric chuckled. “Where’s your sense of adventure, Blondie?”

“You might be surprised to learn that you’re looking at it right now,” the healer laughed. “Honestly, since I’ve arrived in Kirkwall, I’ve pretty much kept to Darktown.”

“Not the greatest place to start,” the dwarf mumbled.

Anders shook his head, frowning. “It’s not glamorous, but I was trying to blend in, you know. Darktown is nearly bursting with Fereldan refugees.”

“You’re Fereldan, then?”

“Mostly, yes,” he answered.

Varric jerked his chin toward Hawke and Carver. “Them too.”

“Yes. I can tell,” he said with a small smile, his eyes flicking between the brothers. They had a certain look about them, and their accents, of course.

When Carver at last drew up before what could only be the Hanged Man, Anders peered up at the namesake effigy, an oversized man hanging inverted and swinging in the breeze, then glanced around the Lowtown neighborhood. Looking to the brothers Hawke, and then Varric, he said. “The suspense is killing me. I’m going in.”

“You don’t have fleas, do you?” Varric asked, following inside.

Anders chuckled. “No.” He laughed a bit more, glancing around the dim interior with interest. “No, why?" 

It was dim inside, moreso even then the encroaching dusk outside. A few dingy lanterns and a crackling hearth gave what light there was. The place was a total dive. Rough hewn tables and mismatched chairs and stools or even rickety benches, all of varying heights. A pervasive odor hung in the air, like stale beer and sour piss, but there was some cheerful music coming from somewhere at the back of the room, and the patrons seemed more or less content.

"Uhhhh no reason…”

“Carver Hawke,” a large man at a back table rose. “You’d best have my money!”

Hawke rubbed at the bridge of his nose even as his brother stiffened and sputtered in protest. He then grabbed Carver by the arm as the warrior tried to edge back out the door. They spoke in low whispers before Hawke released him with a shove and a “Clean this up!”

Anders looked to Varric and said, “Why don’t we order some drinks?” He stepped toward the bar, trying not to think about what he’d just stepped in, and then hesitated as he spotted what looked like a man in Templar garb, slumped over a table.

Hawke moved with them, seemingly ignoring his brother entirely as Carver made his approach to the man who had called him out, though in truth, he cast frequent glances from the corner of his eye to check on him.

“What do you recommend?” Anders asked, of either of them, as he drew his gaze from the passed out Templar and looked briefly at the other patrons, before finally eyeing the man behind the bar.

“Don’t waste your money on the pricey shit?” Varric ventured.

Hawke waved the bartender over. “He’ll have what we’re having.”

Anders nodded to Varric in understanding. But the truth was, he could hardly afford to waste coin on anything pricey, or really anything so superfluous as alcohol. He hadn’t attempted getting drunk since Justice joined him. He wasn’t even sure that he still could. But sharing a companionable drink with new friends was simply too good an opportunity to pass up.

The three of them settled down to an empty - if not especially clean - table, and leaning an elbow on the carved and graffitied surface, Anders studied the silent Hawke in profile while he wasn’t looking. Hawke, it seemed, wasn’t very good at subtlety. He didn’t notice the healer’s gaze because his attention was on his brother. He made a poor attempt to hide it at first, but by the time their drinks had arrived, he was turned entirely in his chair to face the other table. When voices were raised and a fist struck a table, he tensed, but did not yet move.

“Does he do this often?” Anders asked quietly, following Hawke’s gaze to Carver. “Get in over his head?”

Hawke didn’t answer, his hand white knuckled against his mug, a muscle in his jaw working. Varric chuckled.

“Junior? That’s one way to put it,” the dwarf said. “Means well, but lacks follow through.”

“Ah,” Anders lifted his mug, pausing as he glanced into it. That had been a mistake… He surreptitiously eyed Hawke’s and Varric’s mugs in turn, then shrugged and took a large swallow. Which he immediately choked and sputtered on. He set the mug down and dragged a sleeve across his face.

At the other table, more men had risen. Carver threw a punch. Two men grabbed him and held his arms back. Hawke took a long draught of his drink. Anders winced and made as if to rise. “Ah, should we… maybe…?”

“Not yet,” Hawke growled, eyes never leaving Carver.

Anders settled back into his seat, and grabbed his mug, lifting it almost unthinkingly, before remembering to stop. It was foul stuff. He wanted to ask questions, he had many… But he thought about Varric’s comment and held his tongue. Finally, he made himself take a small sip of the… ale? Did it constitute ale?

The lead man punched Carver hard across the face, twice in the belly, as the his companions continued to hold him. The young warrior struggled, unable get to his sword. The lot had the advantage of numbers and weight. A third punch, and Hawke set his drink down and rose.

His staff clocked the man on his brother’s left across the back, and he lost his grip enough for Carver to pull his arm free and deck the one on his right. Then the rest of the gang were on them.

Varric didn’t reach for Bianca, that impressive and powerful four-armed crossbow, judging a bar fight something the Hawke brothers could handle alone - even perhaps finding the brawl entertaining as he drank, sitting back in his chair to watch.

Hawke’s powerful arms swung his staff with athletic precision, the flash of magic that followed subtle enough that not even the drunk Templar caught it.

At first, a tense Anders looked to Varric for cues. Finding the dwarf amused and perfectly content to remain out of the fight, Anders did likewise. Besides, that Templar, drunk or not, made his skin crawl. He watched all of it, transfixed, even taking another drink, and not even noticing the taste anymore. Perhaps his tastebuds had been mercifully seared away by the first two swallows?

The fight was over quickly enough, the men left on the ground. Hawke grabbed his brother’s arm and began to drag him back over to their table near the bar, even as the rest of the patrons ignored the fact that there had been a brawl in the first place.

Carver yanked his arm hard away from Hawke’s hold and defiantly swiped his arm across his face, smearing blood. “I had it!” He snarled. “Why’d you interfere?”

“Surely you’re joking.”

“I don’t need you!”

The healer looked away, feeling intrusive and uncomfortable. His eyes found Varric, and he quietly prompted, “Hawke said he could use me…”

“Not here,” the dwarf said under his breath, then louder, “Looks like you’re gonna have quite the shiner, Junior. How about we celebrate with a drink? Not this shit - I’ve got a couple prime bottles up in my room.”

Anders pressed his mouth into a line and nodded, looking back to Carver. “Your girlfriends might be impressed,” he offered.

Varric hopped down from his stool and began heading for the rooms. “You can take a hit, Junior, I’ll give you that.”

Hawke sat back down and picked up his drink, ignoring them as they walked off.

Anders leaned forward, once more planting an elbow on the scarred table while he lifted his mug for another drink. “This stuff isn’t nearly so bad after a few swallows,” he commented lightly, watching Hawke from the corner of his eye.

The large man took a long sip, and it seemed for a moment he would ignore the other mage. “Kills your tastebuds,” he said after a moment, glancing at him at last.

Anders flashed him a grin. “Thought as much.”

Hawke seemed to consider him for a moment. “In some cultures,” he said, slowly, “a boy can’t be considered a man until he’s rightfully destroyed all sense of taste with this swill.”

“Is that a Fereldan tradition, then?” Anders asked with an arched brow.

“Well. Not to brag.”

He chuckled, and lifted his mug for another pull. “You know, the Grey Wardens have a penchant for concocting some pretty strong mixes. Each man carried his own personal mix. Some were pretty awful, too. Most, actually.” He wrinkled his nose.

“And what was yours?” Hawke asked dryly, regarding his mug. “Cat piss and fermented strawberries?”

Anders scoffed softly. “Hardly - though I know the drink you’re referring to, and it’s pretty foul. My mix, in my brief time with the Wardens, that is, was a Rusty Gauntlet.” He lifted his chin, smiling a bit, eyes wistful. “I got my hands on this Antivan bloodwine, and mixed it with a dark rum I traded a Rivaini sailor for. Pretty good stuff.”

“I’m sure anything will taste good in the Deep Roads,” Hawke said, those amber eyes fixing on him again.

The healer’s smile faded. “I hate the Deep Roads,” he said softly, meeting Hawke’s gaze. “You’ve got to have a reason to venture into the ass end of Darkspawn territory… Not that I’m prying. I just hope your venture is worth the risk.”

He considered a moment. “We came to Kirkwall fleeing the Blight. We arrived with nothing and not much as changed in a year,” he said.

“A common enough story,” Anders said with a nod, then he smiled. “Not unlike my own, in fact.”

"Varric and his brother expect their expedition will yield sufficient profits,” Hawke continued. “It’s worth the risk.”

He nodded slowly, eyes shifting to his mug. Was it nearly empty already? “I hope you are right,” he sighed, draining his cup. The bottom had grit in it, he tried not to grimace. “So,” he prompted at length, “what can I do to help you?”

“Wouldn’t you be the one to answer that?”

He looked at Hawke, his brows lifting. “I suppose so, yes.” He answered thoughtfully. “I expect you already have some ideas, though.”

Hawke lifted his brows and took another drink but didn’t volunteer anything.

“Well,” Anders sighed, eyes darting to the still form of the Templar. His voice lowered, “Aside what you’ve seen first hand, earlier this evening, I am… Circle trained…”

He regarded him silently for a moment, and motioned for the bartender to bring two more drinks. “So you’re not  _only_  proficient in healing, I take it?”

“Also in offensive magic, yes,” he confirmed. “Battle tested with the Wardens…” He shrugged slightly. “I can hold my own in a fight.”

“I kill a lot of people,” Hawke stated bluntly.

Anders regarded him for a moment. “We do as we must,” he said.

He nodded and lifted his new drink. “We do.”

Anders drank with him, now quiet and thoughtful. His gaze shifted to the larger man, time and time again, always flicking off in a random direction if it seemed Hawke would look his way.

“You should consider coming on the expedition,” Hawke said at last, pushing his chair back and rising. He finished off his drink and set the mug down.

“I have been,” Anders admitted, his eyes lifting to follow Hawke’s progress.

“Good,” he said, turning for the door.

Anders rose from his seat, not especially wishing to be left alone in the Hanged Man - not wishing to be left alone at all. He followed Hawke to the door and outside into the Lowtown night. “You know where to find me,” he said to Hawke’s back.

Hawke glanced back at him, over one broad shoulder. “I do.”

“Right,” he said, bobbing his head before turning in the opposite direction Hawke was going. He wasn’t terribly familiar with the Lowtown neighborhoods yet, but he was fairly certain there was a passage to Darktown somewhere nearby. “Right,” he echoed under his breath, shaking his head at himself as he made a left down an alleyway.

 


	4. Chapter 4

A soft puff of breath blew out the thick candle within the lantern, leaving only a curling wisp of smoke rising from the blackened wick. “Needs a trim,” the healer muttered to himself as he stepped away from the dim edifice of his clinic, boots grinding softly on the filth of Darktown. He moved through those dark passages unmolested, for most of these people were refugees, most knew the healer amongst them by sight.

He picked a path which led him to the streets of Lowtown, with an expanse of pink sunset sky above him and ancient, moldering buildings crouched about. He felt less sure of his safety here, where native Kirkwallers spit on the Fereldan masses choking their city-state. But Anders wasn’t afraid, exactly. Maker alone knew he’d seen and been through worse. He was capable and walked these streets with a posture that bespoke his confidence. That seemed to work, he was pleased to note. Eyes traced his progress as he made his way toward the Hanged Man, though none stepped forward to accost him.

And at last, he was there, under that great, swinging effigy, feeling, for the first time that evening, nervous. It was a little flutter inside, that worked its way down his arms to his twitching fingertips. Laughing softly at the irony, and he pushed his way into the tavern, immediately greeted by firelight, sharp smells of alcohol, vomit, and piss, and the welcome sounds of laughter and comradery.

“No, no, Hawke - Maker, are you even paying attention? How have you gone this long without learning how to -” the dwarf at a nearby table lifted a hand, waving the mage over. “Blondie!” He greeted. “Tell me you know how to play!”

“Probably,” he answered with a grin, stepping up to the table, planting his fingertips on the grooved wood, eyes shifting over those gathered. “Just what are we playing, then?”

Varric spread his hands expansively to take in their table. “What other game is there? Wicked Grace, and Hawke’s never learned to play.”

“Pardon me if I had other matters to attend to,” Hawke said, with half a laugh, raising a mug of ale. He seemed more relaxed than Anders had ever seen him, and perhaps just a touch tipsy.

Eyes twinkling, Anders glanced at Hawke, his smile widening at the man’s easy manner. “What other game, indeed. You must learn to play, Hawke. It’s a travesty you don’t already know.”

“That’s our Hawke. Too busy for games, too busy to get himself laid, too busy to shave that rug on his face.”

“Just deal the cards, dwarf.”

“Let me introduce the rest of the crew, Blondie. You already met Junior. Rivaini is the one missing her pants -”

“Oh, did I forget them again?” A dusky woman pouted. “Pesky things.”

Anders nodded to Carver, then offered the Rivaini woman a cheeky grin. “And here I just assumed she was losing the game,” he winked. There was something familiar about her, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

“-and the other one’s Aveline.”

Anders shifted his gaze to the ginger woman. “The name is Anders, ladies. It is a pleasure.”

“He’s not wearing pants either,” ‘Rivaini’ pointed out.

Hawke kicked out a chair. “Sit.”

Anders laughed good naturedly and did as bade. A drink arrived for him not long after, by the same long suffering barmaid as last time, best he could tell. He lifted it for a deep pull, wheezing slightly as his tongue and throat burned. “Right,” he croaked, “what is there not to understand about Wicked Grace?”

“Exactly,” Hawke said. “Just deal, Varric.”

“Oooh, I want to win his underthings!” The Rivaini said.

“And what if he isn’t wearing any?” Anders wondered aloud.

“Better and better,” she said.

The healer chuckled and took another drink. It wasn’t half as bad as the first. “So, the stakes are…?” He arched a brow, looking from Varric to the Rivaini, who had an incredible rack, he noticed belatedly.

“Pride, honor, underthings, and, oh yes, gold.” Varric shuffled the cards theatrically.

“Children, the lot of you,” Aveline scoffed, then added, “Deal me in.”

“I’m not sure I’ve much tender in any of those things,” Anders sighed with faux regret, before grinning, “but I’ll gladly liberate you all of yours.”

Carver snorted. “You’re joking. He’s got to be joking. Let’s shake him down.”

“Why does this one have such a mean face?” Hawke asked, earning groans all around as he showed off a card. Varric took them all back and began to shuffle again.

“Hawke,” Anders began, watching the other mage, “the point is to keep your hand a secret from your fellows until the Angel drops. You’re trying to get several of a suit?”

“You know,” Hawke said, “you were right. I’m not wearing smallclothes.”

Anders blinked, staring at Hawke for a moment, his mind gone blank. “Well… that just makes things more convenient, doesn’t it?” He said unthinkingly.

“Maker…” Carver complained, lifting his mug for a deep drink.

Several hands and many pints, later, the game was well and truly getting heated. Varric had withdrawn his hand in favor of taking notes on the actions of his very drunk friends on a napkin. Hawke, depsite his lack of knowledge, had kept a suspiciously low number of losses. The man’s drunken smile was fierce as he claimed a pile of winnings.

“You’ll have to take it to a private room if you want to take your shirt o- Maker, where are your pants?!” The barmaid demanded. Isabela hadn’t even wagered her shirt yet. She was simply tired of wearing it.

By this point, Carver was drunk enough, and distracted enough by Isabela’s display of goods, that he was down to a pair of threadbare smalls himself, and seemed to neither notice nor care.

Anders had sacrificed his gilded, feathered jacket in a bid to divest Hawke of his. And his quilted robe in the hopes of claiming the man’s shirt. Alas, it seemed that Hawke was a quick study on the game. The healer sat in dark breeches and a thin undershirt, but at least he wasn’t chilled. On the contrary, it felt warm in the Hanged Man. His face was heated, at least, as his gaze shifted around the table.

“You idiots are going to get us thrown out,” Varric chuckled, writing away as Hawke threw down another hand and Isabela let out a wail. The dwarf and Aveline were the only ones besides Hawke still fully clothed. The guardswoman seemed bemused by it all.

“Maybe it’s time to wrap it up,” she suggested.

“There’s not space in my room for everyone to stay,” Varric lifted a brow.

“There is in mine,” Isabela gave Carver a heated look.

“I can see these other two louts get home safely,” Aveline declared, pushing back her chair.

“Just who are you calling a lout?” Anders asked, lifting his brows as he regarded the guardswoman.

“I haven’t won his breeches yet,” Hawke protested.

Aveline sighed and took them each by and ear. “Up!”

“Oww!” Anders complained, tugged to his feet by his ear. “I’m up! I’m up!”

“I’m shtaying,” Carver slurred, pushing himself to wobbly feet and tottering after Isabela.

Hawke made a desperate grab for his winnings, knocking most of it to the floor as Isabela led Carver upstairs.

“I’ll keep them safe for you,” Varric promised offhand. “Go home. We’ve got that job tomorrow.”

Anders tried to lean away from Aveline’s hold on him. “It’s going to be freezing out there,” he protested, waving a hand toward his gear - which technically belonged to Hawke now - as it fell to the grimy floor.

“You should have thought about that before you became so willing to take it all off. March, you.”

“Hawke, talk sense into the woman,” Anders whined. That coat was his favorite. And those robes were his only ones to survive the trip from Fereldan. “Come on, Aveline, it was a game, but we’re talking about hypothermia here…”

“Well, good thing you’re a mage,” she said, hauling them both toward the door.

Hawke pulled free, and yanked his red flannel shirt over his head, briefly exposing a taut muscular belly with a thick line of dark hair vanishing into his pants. Tugging his undershirt back into place, he tossed the garment at Anders.

The shirt hit Anders in his chest and only reflex caught it before it fell. His eyes were glued to the briefly exposed tummy, lips parted as though he’d been about to say something that died on its way out. Mutely, he shrugged into Hawke’s shirt.  _Maker’s breath, the smell of him…_  He allowed Aveline to corral him out the door as though he were some farm animal.

“We aren’t- aren’t children, Aveline,” Hawke protested as she made a grab for him again. He lifted his chin, only stumbling a little.

“Could have fooled me, Hawke.”

“Thanks,” he glared at her ineffectually for a moment before making a grab for Anders, pulling him away from her as they continued down the street. “You, you can come on the job, tomorrow. I’m kicking her off the payroll.”

“I already told you I wasn’t available tomorrow, Hawke,” she sighed. 

Anders lurched along in Hawke’s wake as he was freed from Aveline. He quickened his step, eyes wide as he slipped an arm around Hawke’s waist to steady himself against the larger man. Hawke’s torso was hard and warm. “Of course I will,” he promised, thoughts of drunken lust and Hawke beside him pushing out any concern for what this job might entail.  _Andraste’s knickers, he’d promise to lead the group through the Dark Roads right now if Hawke asked._

“You see?” Hawke called back to Aveline. “We don’t- don’t even need you!”

“You are a silly drunk,” she returned fondly.

Anders peered up at Hawke, grinning. The man  **was**  a silly drunk. It was amazing how different he was this night from when he’d seen him last. “Where are we headed?” He asked, a little thrill arcing through him.

“Aveline, where are we going?”

“We’re walking your friend back to Darktown and then I’m dropping you off at your uncle’s.”

Hawke looked at Anders seriously. “We’re going to lose her and go back to the pub.”

“You are not!”

“Aveline, honestly, I’m not drunk at all. I’ll see to Hawke. We’ll be fine,” Anders peered at her face, trying to see if she believed him.

Her only answer was a loud, derisive snort. Hawke laughed.

“Honestly,” he insisted. “I swear we won’t be going back to the tavern!”

“Which way to this clinic of yours?” She asked, ignoring his pleas.  _Maker have mercy on Kirkwall if she let Leopold Hawke make a drunken mistake tonight._

“Here,” Hawke said with cheer, obediently leading the way.

Anders let his arm slip away from Hawke as the man marched eagerly forward in drunken bliss, defeated for now. He contented himself with the man’s shirt, which smelled of ale and sweat and the more subtle scent that was Hawke. “You knew how to play, didn’t you?” He asked softly.

“Of course I knew how to play,” Hawke said. “Why does ev'ryone think I can’t play?”

Anders stopped, blinking, then burst out laughing. “Split the winnings with Varric,” he guessed, then cursed. “That was my only robe…”

“You reeeally need to get better at cards,” Hawke said wisely.

“Among other things,” Anders lamented.

“Hawke, you give that man back his robe,” Aveline scolded.

“I won it fair.”

“What was fair about that?”

“I’ll let him buy it back from his cut off the net job. The one you’re not invited to.”

Anders started after them again. “Wait, I’m getting paid?”

“Well yeah, if you keep helping, you get a share. But I get most’ve it.”

“That’s a terrible way to explain it, Hawke.” Aveline frowned.

“You thought I was just gonna bully you out of your time, put your life in danger for…cookies? I don’t bake, Anders. I really don’t.”

The healer frowned, folding his arms around himself as he kept pace with them. “I offered you my aid,” he pointed out. “Of course, a little money always helps,” he sighed, closing his mouth.

“Well, I am funding an expi-expi-”

“Expedition,” Aveline sighed, jerking Hawke out of the way of a cart. His arm tightened around Anders’s shoulders and he tugged him along with him.

“Well I-” Anders lurched into Hawke at that powerful squeeze of his shoulders, arm going around the man again. 

“And keeping mother and Carver fed. And paying off Templar spies. And, somehow, paying dear uncle’s debts…don’t know how that happened. Carver’s fault, I think.”

“I don’t need much.” Anders finished. “Just myself to feed, really. And milk sometimes.”

“You’re really scrawny though.”

“Hawke!” Aveline warned.

“I don’t charge for healing,” Anders said, defensive. “Refugees need every coin they can scrape together. I’m not going to take what little they’ve got from them. They appreciate that, too. Watch my back when the Templars come sniffing about.”

“I said I’d give you a cut,” Hawke’s dark brows furrowed in confusion.

“Thank the Maker - we’re here,” Aveline said, stopping just outside the clinic.

“Sorry,” Anders said, drawing away from Hawke, “yes, you did. And if you still want my help, I will come. Tomorrow, then.” He took a key from his pocket. “Thank you for seeing me here, Aveline. Hawke.”

Hawke nearly lost his balance waving as Aveline pulled him away.

Anders let himself into the dark clinic, closing and locking the door behind himself. He crossed to his cot in the rear corner and dropped onto it with a frustrated groan. The wood frame creaked precariously its protest at the sudden weight. Anders didn’t care.  _That fucking Aveline… What a wicked cock blocking ginger bitch! Ah, but wouldn’t he rather Hawke be sober and fully aware of what he was doing? Of course he would. But that didn’t change the fact that tonight would have been amazing._  He gathered handfuls of the oversized shirt and pressed them to his face, inhaling deeply the smell of Hawke. And then he rubbed one out, and slept like the dead.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Far earlier than was welcome, a series of heavy knocks came at the clinic doors. These had Anders flailing and he fell out of his cot. Groaning, he listened as someone tried to force the doors, then scrambled to gather this things. “H-how…? Fuck… Fuck fuck fuck.”  _Where was his robe?!_  He grabbed his staff, panting now, as he leveled it at the doors. A faint crackle of pale blue Fade lightning sizzled over his form. “Clinic is closed,” he called in what he hoped was a calm voice.

“Just open the damn door, Anders!” Hawke called.

Anders sagged, almost dropping his staff as he walked to the door, unlocked it, and peered sheepishly outside. “Hawke? Sorry, I thought…” A heavy bit of cloth hit him in the face: his robes.

“Get dressed,” Hawke grunted, already turning away.

“Be out in just a minute,” he assured, pushing the door closed again. He was still wearing Hawke’s shirt, over his own undershirt and pants. After a moment’s hesitation, he shrugged out of it and pulled on his robe, fastening the clasps, and then his belt over it. He collected a few vials from a crate in the corner of the clinic, tucking them carefully into his belt pouch, then took up his staff and let himself out. He paused only to lock the door, then turned to look for Hawke.

The burly mage was leaning against a stack of old crates, rubbing his temples and looking like he was in the foulest of moods, his expression black. Nearby waited Varric, checking over Bianca as an excuse to avoid his gaze. Carver was also there, looking equally hungover and, if it were possible, even more uncomfortable.

Anders looked each of them over in turn, then asked, “Before we get started, should I heal these hangovers?”

“Maker- thank you!!” Carver groaned, coming forward with a decided limp. “I’ve been begging this prick for hours!”

Anders arched his brows at that pronounced limp, but asked no questions, casting a quick, general healing over the young warrior. “Better?” He asked with a small smile.

Carver’s relief was evident. He gave a gusty sigh. “Yesss, thank you. My darling brother always wants us to tough it out.”

“And how would it look if our wounds were always healed the next day?”

“We’re not in Lothering anymore, brother. I think your healing skills are just lacking.”

“My healing skills are fine,” Hawke ground out.

“You don’t have to suffer needlessly, Hawke.” Anders was already drawing nearer to him.

“Just get on with it so we can get to work.” Hawke snapped.

His expression flattened, but he cast the same healing over Hawke, then stepped back. “Well, that’s done, unless Varric has a stubbed toe or something?”

“That robe wasn’t even worth your share of the profits we’ll make today,” Hawke said. “So don’t bother paying for it. Let’s go.”

Anders frowned down at his ratty robe, then shrugged. “I’ll put it towards my jacket,” he said, more cheerily than he felt.

“Whatever you want to do with it,” Hawke said, turning away. “Don’t think I’ll make a habit of giving back your gambling debts, either.”

The healer cocked his head, frowning slightly at Hawke’s back. He might have thought the man possessed for the change from the night previous, but for his first two encounters with Hawke. It seemed the man was ornery as a bear with a toothache, save when he was drunk.  _A shame, that._  He moved with the group, following Hawke’s lead.

The large mage led them through the winding undercity tunnels, up a narrow stairwell which opened up to the street level of a dingy Lowtown back alley. They navigated the worn streets in pre-dawn silence, cutting a beeline for the great stair to Hightown. The climb was uneventful, if beautiful, with the dawning sky unfolding above and the Waking Sea and the expansive industrial districts below. “We’d best do the drop first,” he decided.

“Right behind you, Hawke,” Varric assured him, eyes ever shifting as they made their way across the stirring Market.

Anders kept any thoughts or questions to himself, walking with the others in as casual a fashion as one could, dressed in ratty clothes in the noble quarter of the city.

Hawke paused briefly to exchange a package for coins, then stopped at a stall. When he returned to the group, it was to hand out steaming cakes, each savory and fresh and stuffed with egg and, since it was Hightown, what was likely good meat.

“Eat up. It’s going to be a long day,” he said, giving Anders a gruff pat on the back as he passed.

“Why Hawke. That was postively thoughtful!” Varric said.

“Don’t read into it, Varric,” he said. Then, after a beat, “Bianca would get jealous.” The joke came out slightly wooden and unnatural, but the dwarf was clearly pleased.

Anders nodded and ate, practically inhaling the little cake. He was licking crumbs off his fingers before he realized it and wiped his hand on his robe. “What’s next?” He asked, before thinking better of it.

“We’ve a long trip out to a place called the Bone Pit. Then, if there’s time when we get back-”

“There’ll be time,” Hawke interrupted his brother. “Pay’s too good.”

“IF there’s time when we get back, and I don’t murder this sodding ass, there’s some kind of delivery that went wrong we’re supposed to see to.”

“Bone Pit,” Anders repeated, “sounds lovely.”

“Yes, not ominous at all,” Varric commented.

“I’ll bet its all flowers and sunshine and prancing elves,” Anders told the dwarf.

“That’s what I hear,” Varric confirmed, not missing a beat.

Carver groaned. “No. You’re both going to be  **cheerful**?”

“The real question here is: why aren’t you?” Anders asked of Carver.

“Why should I be?” He asked in turn.

“Why are any of you talking?” Hawke demanded.

Anders closed his mouth, directing a sour look at Hawke’s back.  _Why was the man so bloody ornery today?_

Varric noted his expression and chuckled. “Ignore the big mean bear. He doesn’t want you knowing about the soft gooey center.”

“Oh, but the gooey center is the best part!” Anders complained, then looked to Carver with his answer. “Because, aside your brother’s take at the game, you were the luckiest of any of us.”

The warrior missed a step. “What are you talking about?”

“Last night,” Anders prompted him with a wave of the hand, “you and that Rivaini…”

“Isabela? We - no, we… huh. Really?”

Anders studied him. “Don’t remember, huh? Shame, that.”

“She threw a bucket of water to wake me up this morning…”

“Then I guess you weren’t very good,” Hawke offered.

“Oh…” Anders said, rather regretfully, “sounds like not…”

Carver’s face went purple. “H-hey! I’ll have you know I’m perfectly fine - no, good! I’m very, very good!”

“You certainly get a lot of practice at the Rose…” Hawke muttered.

Anders lifted a hand. “Oh, yes, I’m sure you are. Perhaps…Isabela was it? Perhaps Isabela was just… Helping you rouse for the day’s work. Maybe you’re a heavy sleeper? No?”

“If anyone’s bad in bed, it’s my brother,” Carver groused, earning a snort from the man in question. “Well? When’s the last time you got laid?”

Anders tilted his head, watching the elder Hawke curiously.

“None of your business.”

“If it’s been since Lothering, I’ll eat my boots - let me guess; you’ve been working too hard to bother.” He faltered when Hawke gave him a long hard look.

“So, what exactly are we to do at the Bone Pits?” Anders asked.

“Besides the picnic poetry reading, he means,” Varric put in.

“Besides that? What makes you think there’s anything else?” Hawke asked, tearing his eyes from his brother at last.

“Well, at least we’ve got a long walk ahead of us. Plenty of time to compose a few limericks.”

“Ugh,” Hawke said eloquently.

 


	6. Chapter 6

The sun was already past it’s zenith and already making its descent by the time the group made their exhausted trek back into Kirkwall. Enervated, singed, and dirty, there were few words spoken among them as they made their way to Gamlen’s house for a brief break before their next mission.

“Food?” Carver suggested, as Hawke slumped onto a step on the stoop.

“You know uncle doesn’t keep anything here.”

“I’m volunteering to go pick it up, dick.”

Varric chuckled. “I’ll go with you, Junior.”

Anders sagged against a nearby wall, dipping his hand into his belt pouch to count the vials he lad left.  _Only three._  Those lyrium potions had cost him far, far too much to acquire, and now he was down to half his supply. Sighing audibly, he watched Carver and the dwarf depart. He found himself fighting the urge to chatter, as he had for most of the morning. It was a losing battle, however. “Well, that was interesting.”

“Can’t say I’ve ever fought a dragon before,” Hawke said, easing himself back against the wall and barely containing a groan. “And those weren’t even fully grown. Damn.”

“It’s one of those events you hope you don’t have to repeat,” he said, “alas… But we did alright, didn’t we?”

“No missing limbs, alive - more or less. I suppose so. Tonight’s job will be easy after that.”

“A gang of thieves?” Anders chuckled softly, wearily, “oh I think so, yes.” He shifted, looking the bearded mage over for a moment while Hawke wasn’t looking at him. “You aren’t Circle trained,” he spoke under his breath, thinking discretion best for this topic, “but your spell work is impressive. Some of it, I’ve never even seen before.” His tone bespoke the impression Hawke had made on him.

He jerked just a little, fierce amber eyes scanning the streets for listeners. “My father,” Hawke said after a moment. “He left the Tower as a young man. Saw to training my sister Bethany and I…”

“I see,” Anders bowed his head. “It sounds like you were very fortunate,” he added somberly.

Hawke frowned a little, working his shoulder. “Father firmly believed those with magic had a responsibility to the world. Had Bethany or I showed ourselves weak willed or otherwise incapable of shouldering that burden, it would have been the Circle or worse for us.”

Anders lifted his head, and studied Hawke’s expression. “I wasn’t implying you had it easy,” he said softly. “Only that I envy your being raised that way.”

“Envy,” he replied flatly, and scratched thoughtfully at his beard as he watched the other mage. “You’re an apostate,” he said at last. “Your freedom, for the sake of innocents around you, is entirely dependent on your ability to control yourself. Do you understand? I’m going to be hard on you, hard as father was on Bethany and me - no, harder, due to your condition. Because it’s that important. Do you understand?”

Anders met his gaze, despite the harsh reality of those words. “You’ve made that plain to me, already. And you still misunderstand me. My envy for the circumstances of your childhood has less to do with your avoidance of the Circle, and more the fact that you were taught by someone who loved you, someone who cared for your well being. It was important to your father that you learned what he taught you, and learned well. instead of being…banished to a group of strangers.” It sounded as though he wanted to elaborate further, but instead, Anders forced his teeth together.

“I don’t bear him bitterness for it,” Hawke said, his fierce gaze shifting away to take in the street. A muscle in his jaw worked. “Your intentions are good. Just - don’t make me kill you, Anders. You seem a decent sort, and I’ve enough guilt on my shoulders.”

His eyes went wide, and he looked away, mouth dropping open though no words came forth. He was shocked by how much those words stung, and he found he couldn’t respond, even should he want to. He folded his arms and hung his head, letting the wall support him as he waited for the others to return with the meal. After a time, Hawke rose and went into his uncle’s house. Once he disappeared inside, Anders slid down the wall to sit in the grime, back still pressed against the shaded mortar. He exhaled a ragged sigh, slipping a hand into his robe to rub at a dull ache in his chest.

When Hawke came back, it was with a pair of lukewarm beers, one of which he set next to Anders before he took his seat again. He didn’t try to break the silence. Anders nodded once in thanks but said nothing. He drank quietly.

“Now that’s a heavy atmosphere,” Varric said by way of greeting as he and Carver returned with cheap, greasy, (and questionable) food from one of the Lowtown carts.

Anders lifted his gaze to the pair, and managed a tiny smile. “Just slowly dying of starvation is all,” he quipped.

“Did you visit every cart in the city to make sure you chose the worst?” Hawke asked dryly.

“Carver picked it.”

“So…yes?”

Anders held out a hand for his share of the meal, not about to complain. It wasn’t like he ate terribly well (or often) to begin with.

“Plan for tonight?” Varric asked, sitting, as everyone ignored Carver’s protests that the food cart was good.

“We kill some people, recover stolen goods, then count our coin.”

“Oh, is that all?”

“What were the goods?” Anders asked, sucking grease off his thumb.

“Assuming it’s lyrium,” Hawke answered with a full mouth.

“Anders, you like the food, right?” Carver was nearly pleading.

The healer sucked in a sharp breath, nearly choking on an errant bit of meat. He coughed and strained for a minute. “Lyrium,” he hissed.

“Some inept smuggler trusted the wrong people,” Varric said offhand.

“He supplies Templars?!” Anders kept his voice hushed but made plain his concern.

“We aren’t in a position to be turning down good coin,” Hawke said. “You want out?”

Anders gave him a startled look. “No, no. I’m with you.” He lifted his beer and drained it.

“Glad to hear it,” Hawke said. He held his gaze for a moment before taking a large bite - and grimacing. “Carver, this is disgusting.”

When Hawke met his eyes, Anders felt something kindle inside of him. Any tension regarding potential Templar encounters dissolved and he felt warm, relaxed. He smiled, but Hawke was already looking away and heckling Carver. Anders felt flush with warm fuzzies, inexplicably brought on by that momentary shared look. “I thought it was alright,” he said, glancing at Carver.

“You see? He thinks it’s fine!” Carver said, earning a grunt from Hawke and a laugh from Varric.

“I don’t suppose I’m terribly picky,” Anders admitted. “I was hungry, it was edible.” He grinned a bit.

Carver was working up to being insulted when Hawke balled up his trash and rose. “Sun’s going down. Everyone feel rested?”

Anders levered himself up the wall, pausing to brush grit from his robe. “Not at all like we spent the morning wrestling with dragons,” he said lightly. The truth was that he was feeling better at that moment than he had in weeks. Odd, that, but he didn’t question it. He smiled easily, ready to face whatever came next.

They began making their way down the darkening streets, wary of the many street gangs that prowled the shadows. As they walked, Hawke motioned Anders to his side. “What was different about that barrier you were using?”

He grinned. “Liked that, did you? It reflects, rather than simply absorbing. Takes a bit more work to keep it going, but it’s worth it, I think. Spirit with Arcane,” he added in a conspiratorial tone.

“Is that why you were chugging the lyrium so fast?” Hawke asked, but his tone made it clear he was teasing. “I was afraid you had issues with stamina.”

“That’s a joke, right?” He grinned. “You have heard about the famed Grey Warden stamina, haven’t you?”

Hawke laughed, a short abrupt sound that seemed to surprise even him. “I have contacts who will cut you a deal on potions,” he said. “I’ll introduce you tomorrow, if you’re free.”

“I could be,” he teased coyly, but he couldn’t stifle his grin. “I’ll make time, sure. Since you’re doing me this favor.”

“Good,” he gave a brisk nod, reaching back for his staff as they neared the appropriate door. He glanced back to make sure Carver and Varric were nearby before kicking the flimsy portal open.

Anders gripped his own staff, stepping through the doorway and immediately aside to let Carver dart past with steel bared, Varric on his heels with Bianca at the ready. He was already casting on the gang of thieves, who seemed far more numerous - and prepared - than anticipated. But that hardly mattered now. He and his new friends fought hard.

Hawke swung his stave with surety, much more free with his spells when he wasn’t fighting out in the open. Fire and lightning and ice, he moves with precision and accuracy and power. Anders made the most valiant of attempts not to be distracted by the rippling muscles and perfectly executed spell work of the burly mage, there was immediate danger, after all. He laid low his fair share of the thieves, and tossed several barriers and a heal at Carver, who, along with Hawke, drew the brunt of their opponents’ attention. In short time, the room was clear, only Hawke and his people left breathing. A chest stood conspicuous in an otherwise empty room, waiting.

Anders blanketed them all with a minor regenerative spell, closing up minor wounds accrued and giving everyone a refreshing little boost of energy. “Did they seem like they were waiting on us?” He asked.

“Aw hell, did we interrupt a party?” Varric reset Bianca and slung her over his shoulder as Hawke knelt to open the chest.

It was empty.

“So…?” When Hawke said nothing, Anders drew closer, along with the others.

“Looks like we got played,” Varric grunted.

“What was the point?” Carver questioned.

Hawke clenched his jaw, turned, and walked out of the house, the others followed him out, only to freeze. They were surrounded by armed and armored figures.

“Shit,” said Carver.


	7. Chapter 7

Hawke’s eyes were on the door the elf had fled through, a frown tugging down on his mouth. All around them in the mansion lay the bodies of would-be slavers, many missing important body parts, not to mention many fetid puddles of quickly dissolving things far worse. By his count, the stranger had taken out almost as many as his entire group.

Anders trembled slightly, unsure if Justice had pressed his way to the surface during the battle or not. “Demons…” He said numbly. “That was a lot of fucking demons.” He leaned on his staff, wiping sweat from his brow.

“The magic here is…” Hawke couldn’t think of a word strong enough for the dirty, oppressive taint that lingered on the air.

“Vile. It’s blood magic, it has to be.” The healer swallowed queasily.

“Hey, at least the elf was right about the valuables,” Varric piped up from the back of the bedchamber. “Some decent pieces here.” There were a few clanks as he dropped them into his pack. “Let’s get out of this dump, eh?”

“He was…yes, collect what we can and we’ll head on. At least we’ve earned something for the trouble.”

“Trouble,” Anders echoed, frowning, and scanned a number of books strewn across a shelf and down on to the floor.

Hawke headed for the door, and the others fell in behind him, Varric and Carver pocketing knickknacks on the way. Anders hurried forward to walk at Hawke’s side, peering up at him. “So, what now?”

The elf’s deep gravely voice greeted them as soon as they stepped out into the night air. “It never ends,” he spat, not looking at them, as Hawke came to a stop. The intensity of Hawke’s amber stare was focused entirely on the strange elf who even now would not look their way. His head slightly bowed, eyes looking out, the former slave wore a bitter twist to his lips. “I escaped a land of dark magic, only to have it hunt me at every turn. It is a plague burned into my flesh and my soul. And now, I find myself in the company of yet another mage. I saw you casting spells inside. I should have realized sooner what you really were. Tell me, then: what manner of mage are you? What is it you seek?”

Hawke gazed at him silently for a long moment. When he answered, his tone wasn’t the steel one might have expected. “I’m just trying to get by,” he said honestly.

Anders had questions, but what else was new? He decided it best to let Hawke handle things, for now…

“Yet I have seen many crimes done in the name of survival,” the elf said, intense green eyes focused on Hawke. The bearded mage opened his mouth to comment but before he could, Carver stepped forward, bristling.

“If you have a problem with my brother, you have a problem with me!” He said.

For a moment, the stranger seemed startled. “I imagine I appear ungrateful,” he realized. “If so, I apologize, for nothing could be further from the truth. I did not find Denarius, but I still owe you a debt. Here is all the coin I have, as Anso promised. Should you find yourself in need of assistance, I would gladly render it.”

Hawke’s hand closed slowly around the thin bag placed into it. Calmly, quietly, he began asking questions. They discussed the elf’s - Fenris’s - abilities, the possibility of the hunters returning, and this Denarius, and Hawke listened, thoughtfully. 

“Now he wishes his precious investment returned, even if he must rip it from my corpse,” Fenris was saying.

Hawke was silent for a long moment before he said, with an attempt at a charm he had never quite mastered, “Seems like a waste of a perfectly handsome elf.”

Anders rolled his eyes from the elf up to Hawke, incredulous. Well, sure, the elf wasn’t terrible to look at but, they’d known him all of an hour. perhaps two? And that was… Well… It was far more flattery than anything he’d heard out of Hawke.

Carver groaned softly behind them. Anders could appreciate that sentiment, though he managed not to voice his displeasure.

They spoke for little longer before Hawke gave the invitation they all knew was coming and Fenris accepted, agreeing to help with whatever the mage should leave. Hawke bounced the small bag of coins in his hand as he turned to walk away, clearly more thoughtful than his usual hard, guarded self. 

Varric was the first to follow, eyeing him with a frown. Anders hung back, keeping pace with Carver, though he did not have much to say.

“Not a complete loss, at least,” the young warrior said, lacing his fingers behind his head as they walked through the Hightown commons in the dark.

“Drinks, then?” Varric asked.

Hawke glanced back, then stopped. “I’ll catch up,” he said.

Anders lifted his brows. “Where are you going?”

“What does it matter?” He asked. “I’ll be right behind you.”

He frowned, but trailed the others as they headed for Lowtown, only glancing over a shoulder as they took a corner to put Hawke out of sight. He thought he saw Hawke approaching Fenris and handing him something. “Did he really flirt with that elf?” he complained to no one in particular.

“You caught that too?” Varric asked. “I thought I was hallucinating.”

Carver shuddered. “I forgot how bad he is at that.”

“He went back to talk to him,” Anders continued, knowing he was being a fool, voicing his displeasure to these two, who were closer to Hawke than probably anyone else.

“He said he’d catch up,” Varric shrugged. “Probably wants to avoid buying the drinks.”

“And he’s the one holding that sack of coin,” Carver muttered. “Say, think we could run a tab?”

“Varric,” Anders spoke up, “do you know what became of my jacket? With the feathers…”

“Your jacket? Hawke paid me for it, said he was gonna return it.”

“Ah well… Good, I guess. So how much did he pay you? I feel like I owe him that much at least.”

The dwarf chuckled. “Nuh uh. That’s between me and the big guy.”

Anders heaved a sigh. “Alright then…”

Footsteps behind them came moments before Hawke jogged up to join them. “Look,” he said. “You all survived, after all.”

“Barely,” Anders said dryly. “So, drinks, then?”

“Drinks it is. Oh, and your cuts,” Hawke said. It was his own purse he reached into, parceling out coin to each of them. “Not counting whatever we get once Varric fences those valuables.”

Anders stared at the coins in hand, surprised by the amount. “If you need me to tag along again, I’m up for it, any time.”

“Good to hear,” Hawke said. “I’m sure I can find other uses for you.”

Anders lifted a brow and a little grin spread across his face. “I’ve got a few talents you’ve yet to see,” he said, with just a touche of suggestion to it.

“Good,” he said again, but seemed to miss the suggestion entirely.

Anders continued to flirt with Hawke in as discrete a way as possible, because of course, Carver and Varric were right there, probably smirking at him. But Hawke didn’t seem to notice or ‘get’ it most of the time, to his chagrin.

After the day’s events, Hawke’s mood was less usual bristle and more thoughtful as they filed into the Hanged Man. In fact, as he sat, he found he could scarcely remember the conversation on the way over.

Anders went quiet as the evening wore on, nursing his beer and thinking about what he would do now that he actually had a few coins to rub together. He caught himself staring at Hawke more than once, and thought back to the ill fated eve previous.  _Aveline wasn’t here tonight, but Anders didn’t want to take advantage of a drunk Hawke. He wanted Hawke to want him._  He followed that train of logic around in circles for a bit, staring into his mug.

“Varric,” Hawke was going more slowly with his drinking tonight, and after hours, was only on his second mug. “What’s your count on the expedition?”

“About halfway, once I sell this stuff.”

Anders lifted his head. “Won’t be long,” he commented softly, “and you’ll be headed into the Deep Roads…”

“That’s right,” Hawke said, looking at him for the first time in a good while. His lips twitched into a smile. “You sure you hate them so much? We could use a healer.”

“You really want me along?” He asked, brow furrowed.

“Well, we’ve still got time if you’d like to prove me wrong, but so far you’ve kept us from dying, haven’t you?”

“Hawke’s healing skills are shit,” Varric said.

“They are not!”

Anders smiled and even laughed softly at the back and forth between Hawke and Varric. “When the time comes for your expedition, if you want me there, then I’m in.” He nodded.

“You’re sure about that?” Hawke asked, studying him seriously.

“Us four’ll have the  **BEST**  time!” Enthused a very drunk Carver.

“I hate the Deep Roads as much as any sane person who’s experienced them first hand. But you’ll need someone with that kind of experience, and Grey Warden senses won’t be amiss, either.” He smiled crookedly, “not to mention a gifted healer and attractive, witty, charming mage…”

“Do you plan to charm the Darkspawn then?” Hawke asked, rising and tossing a few coins on the table. The loss of even that much seemed to pain him. “If you’re done, I’ll walk you back.”

Anders immediately abandoned his mug, and rose to his feet. “Sounds good,” he agreed, then nodded to Varric and Carver. “See you guys.”

Hawke fisted a hand in his brother’s shirt, hauling Carver to his feet. “He’s coming too. I received complaints about the noise levels last night.”

Anders froze for a beat, before he released a breath in a soft scoff. “Fine. I would have worried for you, walking back in the dark alone.”

“Yes, like this idiot is going to be any help,” Hawke said dryly. Carver was sloppy drunk.

“Well, we could drop him off at your uncle’s? On the way, I mean. That way, he wont be underfoot, if you get jumped.” Anders offered casually. It seemed perfectly reasonable to him.

“I suppose it’s not too far out of the way,” Hawke mused, as they headed for the door. His grip was all that was keeping his brother on his feet.

“The hell kind of line was that, anyway?” Carver demanded belligerently as they stepped out into the cool night air.

“A careful one,” Anders muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m sure you missed nuances, in your state.”

“Whaaaa? No, the  **elf** ,” Carver was very loud, swaying at his brother’s side. Hawke had to hook a hand in his belt to keep him on his feet. “Ladies'n Lother-lother- back home, allth’ girls woulda lined up forem. Never saw me, did they?”

“Not this again.”

“But he’s so… **BAD**  at it!” He whispered, none too softly.

“Oh that…” Anders managed a short chuckle. “That wasn’t serious, was it? It wasn’t actually a line…?”

“Ignore him,” Hawke said, giving his brother an extra little shake. Carver laughed but his next speech was incoherent.

Anders relaxed, nodding and keeping an easy pace with the brothers Hawke. They soon reached Gamlen’s place, as it wasn’t terribly far from the Hanged Man. Anders leaned against the wall, in almost the same place as earlier that day.

“Be right back,” Hawke said. “Don’t get killed while I’m gone.” He disappeared into the house with Carver.

“Right.” He nodded, grinning a little. The moment they disappeared inside, he chewed at his lip, eyes shifting sightlessly as his mind began to work, to plan.

There was a commotion as Carver protested being put to bed like a child, as Gamlen screamed, thinking the debt collectors had come for him, all of it audible through the narrow ventilation windows high on the house’s walls. Anders listened, how could he not? When Hawke eventually emerged, expression thunderous and hair askew but otherwise no worse for the wear, he said, “now you.”

Though Anders’s eyes were wide, he tried for nonchalance as he looked the burly mage over. “Putting me to bed, too, hm? I won’t offer up a fight.” He flashed a grin.

“That’s good,” Hawke said, approaching, then passing, taking for granted that he would be followed. “I would hate to get cranky.”

“Far be in from me to intentionally stoke the wrath of Hawke,” Anders said, stepping quickly to walk at his side.

“That’s wise,” Hawke said. “I doubt you’ve noticed, but my temper can get a tad out of hand.”

“I’ll just bet that dragon regrets messing with you,” he laughed. “You know, I had a friend like you, once. Got in all kinds of trouble. Dragged me along. Never thought I’d be doing that again.”

“Are we friends then?” Hawke asked, with more surprise than heat. Genuine surprise - he was accustomed to people following him, scrutinizing his mistakes, highlighting his failures - not offering friendship.

“I had…hoped you felt that way, too…” Anders said hesitantly, peering up at Hawke. “I know that first time we talked, after the Chantry, I got a bit weighty… Sorry for putting that on you.”

“It’s not a concept I’m used to,” Hawke admitted after a beat. “Maker knows Aveline’s been hounding me for a year, but - suffice it to say, I don’t have a lot of experience with…friendship.”

Anders nodded. “I understand. Living as an… As we do, makes it difficult to be open with others, to extend trust. I hope one day you will consider me a friend, Hawke.”

He didn’t answer for a time, walking in silence. “In Lothering,” he said at last, “Bethany and Carver had friends. I worked the farm with father, when I wasn’t studying. I know if I failed it would be my family who paid.”

Anders tilted his head slightly, listening. “Lots of work to be done on a farm,” he mused softly. “You’re a very responsible man, Hawke. Willingly shouldering a burden for the sake of others. I respect that.”

“I’m not trying to earn your pity, only explain- if I’m hard on you, it’s because the stakes are so high. And because I know no other way.”

Anders barked a laugh. “You really  **don’t**  have much experience with friendship, do you?” He asked rhetorically. “Hawke… I don’t pity you. I don’t think I could if I wanted to- which I don’t.  _Maker’s breath, this is difficult._ ” This last bit was under his breath and to himself.

Hawke only grunted and nodded, taking another turn.

“My point was,” Anders picked up again, after a prolonged silence, “you don’t need to shoulder the burden alone. Friends can help share the weight, you know. Or…” He ventured, “provide a much needed distraction, help you relax…”

“I suppose that’s likely the point,” Hawke allowed with a flicker of what may have been a smile.

“Well…yes!” He laughed softly. “That and companionship. And someone to help you slay dragons.”

“I would rather leave off the dragon slaying for a few weeks, if you please.”

“Right, well, I’d have to agree with you,” Anders answered, and then lapsed into awkward silence.

They continued to walk in silence for a time, Hawke’s eyes sharp for signs of trouble. “Do you have assistants?” He asked at last. “For your clinic.”

“It’s just me,” he said, looking at Hawke. “Probably better that way. If the Templars come down, I’d rather not anyone else get caught in the crossfire. Also, I can’t afford to pay assistants, being a free clinic and all… Perhaps after the Deep Roads.”

“I’m sure I’ve already cut into your time with your patients.”

He cocked his head. “So now you don’t want me along,” he wondered.

“I didn’t say that. I was wondering how it would affect your goals.”

Anders laughed. “My goals…” He shook his head. “You know, I didn’t really have many goals, aside evading the Circles and helping people if I could…”

“Really?” Hawke glanced at him. “You seem like the type to have a plethora of goals.”

“Do you mean because of what happened with Karl?” Anders asked, softer now.

“That, among other things,” Hawke said, looking at him now.

“Growing up in the Circle, everything was order, rules, and Templars. The apprentices…” He gestured to himself. “We found ways to make that bearable. Karl and I… He was the first.” He paused, looking at Hawke for a moment, to see that he understood. “We could forge that, out in the world, we were nothing but Templar slaves. We hadn’t been together for a long time. But still… It hurt.”

“I’m…sorry for your loss,” Hawke said. “It’s never easy.”

“It’s the bloody  **Templars** ,” his voice took on an edge. “They don’t see us as people. They don’t care that Karl was someone’s son… Someone’s lover. If you’re born with magic, they hear about it. They search your little rat-spit village and find you. They tell your parents they’ll be thrown in prison if they ever ask about you, striped of their rights in the eyes of the Maker.” His amber eyes flickered suddenly, a disturbingly bright glow which was decidedly ostentatious in the gloom of Darktown. “And if you run away, they hunt you down. Again and again and again…”

“Watch yourself,” Hawke warned, noting the glow, his voice a low growl.

He flinched, the light flickering out, and leaned against a crumbling wall, pushing a hand to his face. “Right, sorry… I’ll try to stick to more…pleasant topics, in the future.”

Hawke actually reached out a hand, gripped his shoulder as he watched for him to gain control of himself with a curse. The moment he made contact, Justice receded and Anders opened his eyes, peering up at Hawke.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered emphatically.

“You’re right,” Hawke said, dropping his hand. “This isn’t something we should discuss.”

Anders sighed, dropping his gaze. “Well, now that I’ve ruined our conversation and your good humor, I’ll just see myself to the clinic, now. Thanks for the work, Hawke. If you need me, you know where I’ll be.”

“I’ll make sure you get the rest of the way,” he grunted, beginning to walk again.

Anders lifted his head, frowning after Hawke for a moment, before hurrying to follow. “Things have been slow at the clinic lately. I’ve got the time if you’ve got more jobs. I’d like to help.”

“All right. I’ll come fetch you tomorrow, then,” he said. There was still a note of steel in his voice.

“Hawke…” Anders said, voice subdued, climbing the steps which led up to the clinic doors. “Won’t you come in for a bit?”

He looked at him oddly at the invitation. “To what purpose?”

“Just…I thought we could talk, you know, in private. Unless I’ve managed to put you off talking for the evening.” Anders smiled wanly. “I thought we could both use a distraction.”

“I suppose,” Hawke allowed. Then, with what was nearly a chuckle he added, “mother’s likely waiting up to lecture me on being a better example for Carver anyway.”

“Well, let us at least spare you that,” Anders said, sounding both pleased and amused, as he unlocked the door to let them inside. Safely behind closed doors, he lit a lamp with a spoken word, leaning his staff against a wall. The clinic was chilly, the pervasive chill of Darktown nights. Of homes in ancient sewer systems beneath the rock of the city. He lit a brazier for warmth, also with magic. He spotted Hawke’s red shirt where he’d tossed it that very morning, and cursed himself for a fool at having left it out. “This is yours,” he remarked, picking it up and taking it to Hawke. “Thanks for the loan.”

“Oh good, I’d forgotten what I did with that,” he said, taking it back, eyes moving over the clinic, taking in the details. In truth, he hadn’t noticed the shirt until Anders pointed it out.

“You were pretty tanked last night,” Anders observed, “do you remember much of it?”

“Frankly I was just thankful to wake in my own bed,” he said with a chuckle, shaking his head. “There were a few embarrassing incidents in Lothering that I’m very glad my brother doesn’t know about.”

“Oh really?” Anders grinned, turning to drag a stool over from the corner. “Care to sit? There’s the stool and the cot… I ah…don’t entertain many guests. Not ones who aren’t in need of healing anyway.”

Hawke moved to sit on the cot. “You’ve been a little busy for a social life,” he observed.

Anders laughed, clasping his hands. “Our adventures at the Hanged Man are some of the first actual socializing I’ve done since coming to Kirkwall. I really appreciate the opportunity.” He hesitated, wanting to sit on the cot too, but feeling foolish at having dragged the blasted stool over. “You’ve got a good group of people.”

“It seems so,” Hawke said. “Lucky for you all, Aveline’s been working on me for a year.”

“She seems like a good woman. Very protective.” He said judiciously. “So everyone else just sort of came together? It’s funny how that works.” He smiled.

“We met Varric next,” he said. “I wasn’t sure what to make of him at first, but he’s a good sort.”

“He seems like it. And, he’s loyal to you, you know. A good friend, I think.” He settled himself on the stool, facing Hawke. “So this expedition, the Deep Roads, I suppose you have some sort of destination in mind?”

“Varric and his brother do,” he shrugged. “Some untouched part ripe for looting before Darkspawn overtake it again.”

Anders nodded. “There are lots of places like that. But just because the Blight has been ended, that doesn’t mean the Darkspawn are all gone. Though,” he cocked his head to one side, “I suppose it’s a worthy risk, when you consider just how much treasure is at stake. Get your family out of Lowtown with that kind of money.”

“Not to mention, with that kind of coin it’s easy to avoid…questions.”

Anders grinned. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? I guess it all depends on whose palm gets greased. There were plenty of nobles in the Tower, believe me.”

“It will help, anyway,” he sighed, scrubbing a hand though his hair.

“Oh, I don’t doubt that. The Free Marches aren’t Fereldan, after all.” He folded his arms, regarding Hawke. “So, you mentioned goals, earlier…”

“I did. Finally come up with some?”

He slowly smiled, meeting Hawke’s eyes. “One or two, maybe.”

“Well?”

He pushed up off the stool and moved toward the other mage, never taking his eyes from Hawke’s amber gaze. He took a knee before him, and reached a hand out to place it upon one of Hawke’s knees, leaning closer.

“Oh,” said Hawke, surprise flickering across his face before he rose. “No, that wasn’t what I meant,” he said, moving around Anders, for the door. “Er, sorry.”

Anders watched him rise, unhappily, to say the least of it. “No, I am. I… It was a mistake. I apologize.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, truly,” Hawke said, more uncomfortable than Anders had ever seen him. “It’s just not a good time for me to get…distracted.”

Anders lowered his gaze. “I understand, and again, I apologize for making presumptions… I’ll see you tomorrow, if you still need me.”

“Right, yes,” Hawke said.

Anders didn’t look up, and didn’t say anything further. He felt as though his face was going to burst into flame, and his stomach hollow itself out.

“I’ll just…let myself out,” Hawke said.


	8. Chapter 8

It was early when the knock came at the clinic door, the Kirkwall sun rising low and dirty on the horizon, smoke from the foundry already making the air thick and yellow in certain quarters of the city. Anders cracked the door to peer out, blearily, face wan, with dark circles under his eyes and he sorely needed a shave.

Hawke leaned against the doorframe, dressed casually, dark pants and loose shirt, and the stave on his back could easily have passed for a simple walking stick. The companion he had brought with him hung back, scowling and suspicious and ready for a fight - as if certain the mage within would come bursting forth with fire and brimstone.

"Hawke?" The healer questioned, with an air of surprise. He did not open the door any wider, however. Mostly because he was wearing Hawke's twice forgotten red shirt.

The large man frowned a little, his eyes not quite meeting Anders's own, perhaps more uncomfortable given their last encounter than he had anticpated being. "We're meeting Varric for breakfast," he said. "How long do you need to get ready?"

The dull haze of clinging sleep cleared from his eyes. "A moment, only. A moment," he assured, closing the door.

"Ah - " Hawke grunted when the door was closed in his face, and glanced briefly back at his companion.

Inside, Anders quickly pulled Hawke's shirt off, and tucked it carefully away, then practically leaped into his clothes: pants, shirt, boots. He hesitated over his robe, but remembered that Hawke was dressed casually, so instead, he shrugged into his jacket, belted on his pouch - just in case, and grabbed his staff. Then he was back out the door, quickly locking it behind him. "I wasn't sure you were going to come," he said softly, sheepishly, then turned around to face Hawke, and froze, spotting the elf from the other night.

Hawke's expression was a little harder now, but the elf who had come out with him appeared almost amused. "I'm not going to ostrasize you over something like that," Hawke said, in reference to Anders' miscalculated move the night before. In response, Anders flushed unhappily and averted his eyes.

"You remember Fenris. He's tagging along today." Hawke said, gesturing. The elf grunted, the amusement fleeing his eyes quickly as he eyed the pair of mages.

"Yes, hello," the healer said to Fenris, trying not to make an even bigger ass of himself.

"Don't speak to me, mage," the elf said, turning away and begining to walk without waiting for the others. Unlike Hawke, he was in his full, dark armor, sword obvious.

Hawke shrugged at the brusqueness. "You look like shit," he told Anders, but an upward tick to his lips indicated it was meant as a friendly barb.

Anders had been staring at the elf's back, brow furrowing, but shrugged it off as Hawke spoke. "Yes, well, that isn't too far off from how I feel," he sighed.

Hawke nearly thumped his back, then thought better of it, dropping his arm without touching him. "We'll get some coffee in you," he said. "Bacon. Eggs. You'll be fine."

Anders hadn't noticed Hawke's hesitation, and that was probably for the best. "I'll just take your word for it," he said gloomily.

Hawke glanced at Fenris's back, but the elf walking ahead of them was paying them no mind. Still, he lowered his voice. "Look," he began awkwardly.

"It was my mistake," Anders said, without looking at him. "I apologize."

"You don't have to apologize, just - don't let it compromise you. I still need you," Hawke said, his voice firm, stating a fact. "We have a lot of work to do. If you're not comfortable working with me, then we have a problem."

Anders peered at him for a moment as they walked, side by side, through the dim passages of Darktown. "There's no problem. I still want to help. And I will, so long as you need me."

"All right then," Hawke said with a firm nod, awkwardness making his voice a little hard, his movements a little jerky. Ahead, the elf stopped, looked back.

Anders looked away, lifting a hand to rub sleep from an eye. _This was going to be a long day._

"Problem?" Hawke asked as they caught up to Fenris.

The elf's lips compressed in a thin line. "I don't know where we're going," he admitted.

"Please tell me we aren't breakfasting at the Hanged Man?" Anders asked, there might have been a bit of a whine to that.

Hawke glanced at Anders, expression unreadable. "You seemed to like it fine before," he said. "Anyway, Varric refuses to go anywhere else. Also, he doesn't know we're meeting him."

Anders laughed wryly. "For some after hours boozing, sure. But breakfast in that place sounds..." He trailed off into silence again, smile fading.

"Do you know where I could find a replacement dwarf, then?" Though Hawke sounded serious, it earned a snort from Fenris that was either a laugh or a cough.

"Actually, I've never met a dwarf like Varric," Anders said, thoughtfully. "I rather like him."

"Then we had best not insult his favorite haunt," Hawke pointed out.

Anders shook his head helplessly. "I wasn't insulting it. I like the place, all things considered."

"Don't order the spinach omlette."

He turned his face away to hide the grimace. "Maker, no..."

"I...learned that the hard way." Again came that strange huff of not-quite-amusement from ahead.

Anders peered ahead at the elf, his brow furrowing again. "Maybe just coffee and toast..."

"I told you, we're getting some eggs and bacon into you," Hawke's tone brooked no argument. "It's going to be a long day."

"Alright," he relented, lifting a staying hand. "Eggs and bacon." His stomach growled audibly. "And toast."

Hawke glanced at him for a long moment, then nodded, judging that the other apostate seemed somewhat more at ease. He moved forward. "And you," he began.

"You're not telling me what to eat," the elf said.

"I am if I'm paying."

Anders watched the pair of them, lifting a hand to bite idly at his thumbnail. His gaze shifted to Hawke's broad back, his shifting hips. He contented himself with gazing at the man's ass as they navigated the dim tunnels, as it was really the only consolation he had in the face of the disasterous night previous.

Hawke and Fenris bickered all the way up to Lowtown, and it was distraction enough to make the elf just the slightest bit less tense. Things were reaching a good crescendo when they burst into the Hanged Man. "And for another thing-!" Fenris was saying.

Varric looked up from his morning newspaper with a groan.

Anders edged around the pair and crossed to Varric's table, dropping into a chair. "Make them stop," he pled softly.

"What have you got planned today, Hawke?" The dwarf asked, folding his paper with resignation. "And how did you slip out without Junior?"

"Food first," Hawke said, pulling out a chair.

Anders leaned forward, folding his arms on the tabletop, and put his head down. "And coffee," he yawned.

"What's wrong with you?" Varric asked, eyeing him as Fenris silently dropped into the vacant seat beside Hawke.

"Nothing," the healer said, a touch defensive. "I just... didn't sleep well. I'll be fine once I've had breakfast." He chanced a quick glance toward Hawke, then back to Varric. "What's your excuse?"

Hawke had been looking at Anders, but now his gaze shifted to the dwarf, who only shrugged. "You mean aside from having my peaceful breakfast interrupted? Why, everything's peachy, Blondie."

"Good," he mumbled, lowering his head back onto his arms. He wasn't in danger of falling back asleep. More, he wasn't feeling especially keen on socializing this morning. Yet, something told him it was better to persevere than to disappoint Hawke.

When the barmaid arrived, Fenris made a point to order before Hawke could, which seemed to amuse the big man, despite the looks the elf gave him.

Anders realized this was the first time he had been around Hawke with the group, but sans Carver. There was something a little more relaxed about the man, without the need to watch out for his sibling, or the constant battle of wills between them. When it was his turn, he straightened in his seat, giving his own order, as Hawke had insisted he would eat: bacon, eggs, toast, and coffee. The truth was that he was hungry enough to eat all of that and more. And glancing at Hawke again, he saw that he'd earned a grin- well, half of an almost-grin, for taking the recommendation.

"No, really, Hawke, what are we doing?" Varric asked. "This isn't going to be like the time you said there was a street gang but really your mother sent you out to do the laundry, is it?"

"Hey, laundry is important, too," Anders joked, his weary, humorless facade dissolving for something brighter under that half an almost-grin.

"Carver's on laundry duty."

"To be fair, you **did** turn all her unmentionables pink last time."

"I maintain that was an accident. Everyone's unmentionables turned pink, not only mother's."

Anders chuckled softly, shaking his head. He couldn't tell if they were full of shit or serious, but he felt more lighthearted and at ease now that the conversation was rolling.

"Wait," Fenris spoke for the first time since ordering, eyeing Hawke. "Do you mean to tell us that you're wearing pink smallclothes?"

"No," Hawke said. "I don't wear any at all."

"There's an image I didn't need before breakfast," Varric said, lifting his mug as the barmaid came to pour coffee all around.

Anders buried his face in his mug and drank deeply of that bitter brew, willing himself to think of something, anything, that wasn't Hawke with no small clothes.

"So, then, you likely did do it on purpose," the elf said. "You were the only one unaffected."

"And yet Junior, and Gamlen..." Varric realized.

"You two are being ridiculous," Hawke said, reaching for the paper. His tone lacked it's usual hard edge.

Anders suddenly straightened, lifting a brow. "Wait. When did this happen?"

"Not long after I approached them," Varric said, as Hawke pretended to read. "I thought the big guy here was beyond hope until I realized what he'd done."

"You've imagined it all, dwarf," Hawke said.

"But, Carver's smalls, the other night when we played Wicked Grace? They weren't pink..." Anders immediately regretting bringing it up.

Hawke's brows rose, and even Fenris froze, coffee half lifted to his lips. They both stared.

He shrugged slightly. "He plays a terrible game of cards... Don't you remember?" His face began to flush and he glanced to Varric for a little help.

"I remember," Hawke said. "But I didn't expect you to pay enough attention to my brother's underpants to know what color they were."

Anders sighed and pressed a hand to his forehead. "I didn't... not really. But **pink**? Maker, that would have stood out, I think."

Hawke considered him in silence for a long moment, long enough, perhaps, for it to become uncomfortable. When he grinned, a sudden, unfamiliar expression, it likely made it worse. "Well," he drawled. "Next time he's nearby, I'll arrange a private viewing."

"Please don't," Anders complained. "He's really not my type." He lifted his coffee and took a long, unnecessarily long, drink.

Hawke looked away at that, and didn't comment.

"Can we please stop talking about Junior's underthings?" Varric asked. "I'm getting visuals and it's not good."

Anders made a study of the contents of his mug until their breakfast arrived, at long last, then he tore in as though he hadn't eaten in days. He immediately grabbed a piece of bacon and crunched it, broke the yolks and used his toast to mop them up. There was silence for a little while as the rest tucked into their meals, as well. Hawke had ordered the same as he'd suggested for Anders, Fenris had opted for a thick porridge and seemed rather surprised when it came with a generous dollop of honey and cut of fruit. Varric had a thick steak and eggs, but seemed more interested in returning to his paper.

Anders glanced once or twice at that steak, but managed to focus on his own plate, and the mug, which had been refilled for him. He ate methodically, cleaning every last crumb, scrap, and drip from his plate short of licking it. And then he settled back in his chair with the warm mug cradled in his hands, and glanced around the table.

"Another plate?" Hawke asked. No one else was even half done yet.

Anders lifted his brows. "What? No, no, I... I couldn't make you pay for two." He smiled sheepishly. "I'm fine."

"You couldn't make me do anything," he said. "I told you, we have a full day." And he waved the waitress over.

"Hawke, please, I've eaten. I'm fine." The apostate looked rather embarrassed.

Hawke lifted his brows at that, but ultimately shrugged, turning his attention back to his own meal - until becoming distracted; Fenris, with a look of concentration bordering on offense, was licking the honey from his spoon. " **What** are you doing?" Hawke asked.

"It's...good," the elf said. Hawke continued to stare.

Anders lifted his gaze, first to Hawke, startled at the question, but quickly realizing it wasn't directed at him, he peered at Fenris. It took a moment to figure out what Hawke was talking about. And then he noticed the way the bearded mage stared... Varric happened to glance up, noting it too, with an expression of surprise. He coughed, not so discreetly, and Hawke seemed to shake himself, returning almost automatically to his meal.

In short order they were filing out of the Hanged Man, bellies considerably more full.

Anders lifted fists to the skies and went up on toe, stretching. When he relaxed, letting his arms hang loose at his sides, he tried to peer at a slip of paper in Hawke's hand. Discretely, of course.

"Hawke, is that a shopping list?" Varric asked flatly. The burly mage pocketed the slip.

Fenris had been the only one to show no interest in it. "What does it matter?" the elf asked.

"Right," Hawke said. "What does it matter? I have things to do. You all said you would help."

"Carrying groceries?" Anders asked dubiously.

"Among other things," Hawke's voice had gone hard. It seemed to strongly imply, though he didn't actually say, _I fed you._

"Well that sounds a bit easier than say, slaying dragons," the healer answered lightly, pocketing his hands in his trousers.

"We'll get to that," Hawke said.

Anders chuckled mirthlessly. "I'll need to make a stop for some things before we do," he warned casually.

"Such as?" Hawke asked.

Anders shrugged. "You're hardly dressed for such an encounter, nor, I, for that matter. But if you think we'll be fine, then my trust is in you, Hawke."

"All right," he admitted. "We're picking up groceries."

 


	9. Chapter 9

Hawke gestured for Anders to follow him into a small, cramped bedroom the man and his family shared in his uncle's house, and though they two were alone in the house, he still checked the front room to make sure it was empty and closed the door behind himself. "It will be just a moment," Hawke said, moving to his bunk. He seemed to hesitate, then glanced to Anders, his jaw set, mouth frowning. He gestured with his chin. "Turn around. Don't look."  
  
Anders blinked, his brows lifting. "Oh! Right, of course." He turned his back, cheeks heating with indignation. "I didn't realize you were so modest, Hawke," he quipped, as much to release his sudden tension as to tease the other man.  
  
"I'm not," Hawke said. It was not the shifting of clothing Anders heard, but a series of thunks and bumps and bangs, then a gruff "All right."  
  
Curiosity piqued, Anders turned, and glanced around for a moment, before looking to Hawke. "All right?" He echoed, lifting a brow.   
  
It was a small room, close, and with only a step Hawke was nearly in Anders's personal space. He offered a small bag that jingled with coin. "Since you're here, I'm volunteering you for some work."  
  
Anders accepted the pouch with a small smile, tucking it into a pocket without a glance. "How can I help?" He asked warmly.  
  
"You aren't scared of heights, are you?"  
  
He cocked his head to one side, lifting a brow. "Ah, **why** , exactly?"  
  
"The roof has a leak," Hawke said, sliding around him toward the door. "Fenris was going to come help, but he's late."  
  
He hesitated for a moment only, then turned to follow Hawke. "It's no problem. I'll get up there, if you need me."  
  
"How comforting," Hawke said dryly.   
  
It had been a few weeks, and Anders found himself in Hawke's company on the regular, helping with a myriad of tasks from the dangerous to the mundane. He knew Hawke was taking every possible sort of work he could to save for this expedition, and he'd overheard the bearded man speaking with the beardless dwarf on more than one occasion. They were getting closer and closer to the goal, though as Varric was fond of pointing out, it would have been reached far sooner if Hawke didn't keep paying everyone for their help - or picking up meals. The elf, Fenris, had been a constant member of the party since his introduction, though he seemed to Anders to be as prickly as he had been from the start, not just with him, but with other members of the group, as well. Even Varric. Hawke, on the other hand, had slowly begun showing more cracks in that hard facade of his. Very slowly.   
  
"The ladder is outside," he said, grabbing a pair of hammers. "Get that box of nails."  
  
"This is Lowtown," Anders drawled lightly, "how high could it possibly be?" He reached out and grabbed the box on his way to the door. _Well, at least the elf was a no show. That was something, wasn't it?_ He could handle a ladder, a rooftop, some carpentry, alone with Hawke.  
  
"Did you eat?" Hawke asked. "We could be up there for hours, in the sun. I want the job done. Carver was supposed to do it a month ago. He did a half-ass job patching it, and now it's an even worse mess."  
  
"Of course I did," he said, amending to himself _'yesterday'_. "Don't worry, we'll get it taken care of." He offered a little grin.  
  
Hawks glanced over his shoulder at him, his strong face expressionless for a moment as his eyes shifted over the other mage. "I'll throw lunch in if you do a good job," he said. "But if you faint on me - "  
  
Anders held up his hands. "Alright! No fainting! I swear!"  
  
"See you keep to that promise," Hawke said, heading outside. "I don't fancy the idea of carrying you down off the roof."  
  
Anders swallowed. "Nor I," he said, honestly. _Could someone even be safely carried down a ladder?_ He didn't want to imagine how. He gave the box of nails a gentle shake, letting them rattle inside just a bit.   
  
Hawke opened the ladder and tested it, then glanced at Anders. "You first. I'll hold it steady."  
  
"Right. Okay." He moved to the ladder and began to climb, with the box of nails in one hand. He made quick and easy work of it, and after the briefest scramble, was on the roof in short order. Once he'd put some distance between himself and the edge, he took a moment to scan the state of the roof. The new-ish tiles, many slightly deformed factory rejects likely bought at a cheaper price, were already waiting up there for them. He shifted in place, taking in the view of the neighborhood. He thought he could see the tree in the alienage from here. "Huh..."  
  
"Watch your step," Hawke warned him as he followed.   
  
Anders turned to watch Hawke pull himself onto the roof. "This isn't so bad," he told him with a grin. "I don't know what I was expecting, but..."  
  
"It's not quite Carta dwarves or Tevinter slavers, but that doesn't mean you should be careless."  
  
"I'm not being careless," he replied, moving over to the stack of tiles. "Where is that leak?"  
  
Hawke finally made it up to the roof. "We'll start over here," he said, pointing to the first of the roof's many weak points. "Mostly I just need you to play assistant. Hand me things, heal me if I fall through the roof, keep a watch in case someone decides it's a good time for an ambush."  
  
Anders narrowed his eyes and laughed. "You're not serious, are you?"  
  
"You don't want to play lovely assistant?" he asked, squatting and beginning to pry up a failing tile.  
  
"Well, I suppose I could," he said, "I am rather lovely." He set down the box of nails and fetched a short stack of tiles, returning to Hawke, and squatting down nearby.  
  
Hawke snorted softly, whether in amusement, agreement, or disagreement, it wasn't clear. "Carver knows better than to do a shit job like this."  
  
"He seems to have a real chip on his shoulder,' Anders observed.  
  
"He wants responsibility, but when it comes down to it, he always fucks it up. He's too used to following, waiting for me to clean up his messes," Hawke looked up, catching Anders' eyes. "But he is a good man. Somewhere under all the rest."  
  
"I believe that," he said, sincerely.   
  
Hawke nodded, and continued with his task. "My father asked a lot of me. Carver was jealous he wasn't put to the same standard. He doesn't understand what he gained from that."  
  
"He's not a..." he paused, glancing around, instinctually, though of course they were alone on the roof. "Not like you and I?"  
  
"No, much to his frustration," he said, hammering. "He resented the time father took with Bethany and me, resented the attention. Never understood the **weight**."  
  
"I ...see." He said, surprised to find himself sympathizing with Carver of all things. "It's easy to see greener pastures elsewhere."  
  
"Carver got to play and laugh and be a child. He didn't have father constant in his ear, reminding him of every harm one moment of weakness would cause," Hawke spoke without bitterness, matter of fact.   
  
Anders glanced away, eyes distant. "But what he saw was a father doting upon his siblings, I imagine," he said quietly.  
  
He grunted softly. "Father was a good man, warm, loving - but he was very firm, unbending, when it came to his beliefs. The kind of man who would draw a line in the sand and stand firm, come what may."  
  
Anders glanced at Hawke, one corner of his mouth curving up in a half smile. "Sounds like the apple didn't fall far from the tree."  
  
He paused for just a moment, then slowly looked up. He gestured for another tile.  
  
Anders handed it over without a word, wondering just what was going through Hawke's mind.  
  
"We lived in a small farmhouse on the edge of Lothering," Hawke said after a moment. "We did everything ourselves. Father didn't believe in hiring laborers for what our own hands could manage."  
  
"Lothering..." Anders slowly shook his head. "It's gone, now. Completely razed. I'm sorry."  
  
"Yes," he said. "I know."  
  
"Do you ever think about going back there?"  
  
"No," he said, the answer short, sharp. He was silent a moment before he amended, more gently, "My family is **here**."  
  
Anders nodded. "I'm finished with Fereldan."  
  
His lips quirked. "Because Kirkwall is such a bastion of success?"  
  
"Not exactly," he wrinkled his nose. "But it will do, for now. Besides, I think I've made a few friends here."   
  
Hawke paused for a moment, then motioned for another tile.  
  
Anders handed a tile over. "Well, I'd like to think so, anyway. Perhaps I'll make do with people who can stand my company." His tone was light, but he watched Hawke.  
  
"It isn't a bad plan," Hawke said. "Kirkwall is unforgiving to those with no one to watch their backs."  
  
He laughed mirthlessly. "Tell me about it. Why do you think I kept to Darktown?"  
  
"Darktown's the worst," he pointed out humorlessly.  
  
"It is pretty awful," he agreed. "But the people there, they need help, and I give what I can. They appreciate that, and look out for me, in turn. I mean, they wouldn't fight for me, but I've received a warning or two about snooping...Templars." He whispered the last word.  
  
"They can help when they see the benefit," Hawke agreed, "But you shouldn't let your guard down, shouldn't trust more than necessary. If the price were high enough..." he hammered for a second, frowning. "And you should take care of yourself," he added at last.  
  
He blinked. "You think that I don't take care of myself?"  
  
"I think that you become distracted with other concerns," he said. "Running yourself into the ground helps no one."  
  
Anders lowered his gaze, quiet for a moment. When he spoke, he was hesitant, but earnest. "I... appreciate the way you've helped me out. You didn't need to do that, but that hasn't stopped you. I will try... to do better."  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about," Hawke said sternly, and motioned for another tile.  
  
He handed another tile over, mutely. "My mistake..." He added after a moment.  
  
Hawke worked for a time in silence. And Anders continued to hand off tiles as needed, fetching more when they ran low. It was a warm day, and up on the roof there was no protection from the sun. As time went on, the healer peeled off his jacket, wearing a ratty undershirt and his trousers.

Hawke had worked up a sweat by the time he gathered their materials to move over to the next section of roof. He paused, pulled off his shirt and used it to wipe his brow before tossing it aside, his work steady.  
  
Anders tried to keep his eyes on the work, to have another tile ready, though his efforts were in vain. His gaze lingered on Hawke, in all his glory, dark hair spreading across his broad, chiseled chest, thick muscles gleaming with sweat. He was quickly distracted. After a while, he eventually noticed Hawke looking at him expectantly. The man might have asked him a question. Giving himself a shake, sun-flushed face going a deeper red, Anders mumbled, "Sorry, what? I..ah..."  
  
"I asked how you were holding up."  
  
He lifted a hand to swipe at the sweat on his brow. "I thought I was fine, but... maybe the sun is boiling my brain." He laughed softly. "Sorry. Ah, tile?" He lifted one in offering.  
  
"I didn't mean the work," Hawke said, accepting the tile.  
  
His eyes shifted as he thought. "Oh, I'll be alright. Would you believe me if I said the evenings at the Hanged Man are a help?"  
  
"I think they are, too," Hawke said, perhaps a little gruffly.  
  
He smiled, genuinely pleased. "Yes, it's like I was saying. Friends."  
  
Hawke hesitated, but gave a curt sort of nod.  
  
"Listen, about that night," he began.  
  
Hawke paused for just a moment. "What about it?"  
  
Anders wet his lips. "I just hope that I didn't... I mean... I hope... you don't think less of me for it. I have so much respect for you. I hope we can be ...friends."  
  
"Think less of you?" Hawke asked.  
  
He shrugged uncomfortably. "Not all men fancy other men. And I know that we didn't know each other well, it was... I should have asked, instead of simply..." He shrugged again, at a loss for how to explain himself.   
  
Hawke began working again, and didn't himself seem uncomfortable. "The only way I would think less of you would be if you had pressed the issue after I indicated it wasn't what I was looking for," he said. "You didn't. You have nothing to apologize for."  
  
Anders relaxed. "Alright," he answered slowly. "Thank you."  
  
"Is it just men, then, or both?" Hawke asked. He still did not seem uncomfortable with the conversation, nor with the fact he was shirtless - in fact, he hardly seemed aware he should be. He only paused to wipe his face again.  
  
"Both," Anders answered, sitting back on his heels, a little smile curling his mouth.   
  
Hawke nodded, putting the shirt back down, trading it for his hammer again.  
  
Anders reached for another tile, stealing glances at Hawke when the opportunity presented itself to do so, discretely. "What about you?"  
  
Hawke paused, and though his head was bowed, Anders could see his eyes widen slightly; he hadn't expected the question to be turned back on him. Sitting back for a moment, he scratched at his beard as he considered. "It's not something I'm bothering with right now," he said. "But, if it were..."  
  
It was all he could do not to lean forward in anticipation. He arched a brow. "Yes?" Anders prompted.  
  
He hefted his hammer experimentally, shrugged. "Men," he said, returning back to work. "Exclusively."  
  
He smiled, and looked away, out over the rooftops of the neighborhood. After he felt he could wipe it from his face, he focused on Hawke's work again, tile ready to hand off. Anders could respect that Hawke wasn't focused on sex at the moment, and he could certainly be patient. The man would, at some point, he felt certain, shift his priorities. Perhaps after the expedition, when he had the money to make his family comfortable.  
  
"Back in Lothering," Hawke began, hesitating.

As if on cue, there was a scraping noise near the ladder, and after a moment a pale head appeared over the edge of the roof. Fenris looked tired as he climbed onto the roof. "It was not my intention to keep you waiting," the elf began, and stopped short when he realized Hawke wasn't alone.  
  
Anders, who was entirely interested in Hawke's story, glanced to the source of the interruption with mild annoyance.

"There's your hammer," Hawke said, nodding toward the extra one he'd brought, and tossing the second bag of coins he'd earlier prepared the elf's way. Fenris caught it out of the air without taking his unfriendly gaze from Anders.  
  
"We didn't wait," Anders said with a hint of sass.  
  
"You certainly haven't gotten very far without me," Fenris said, moving to one of the areas that needed patching before Hawke could point it out. Hawke's eyes tracked him for a moment.  
  
Anders narrowed his gaze as he watched the elf, then looked to Hawke. "What was that you were saying?" He asked.  
  
"Nevermind," he grunted.   
  
Anders frowned slightly, casting another hard look in the elf's direction. Then he focused intently on Hawke's work, ready to assist. _Because he was a good fucking assistant._


	10. Chapter 10

Anders passed through nearly empty streets and alleyways of the grainy pre-dawn Lowtown. He made the trip alone, and thus, wore his robe and carried his staff, as though it were a walking stick. This was the most quiet hour of the city, but despite that, the roar of the foundries dominated the air. He skirted past the Hanged Man, it's namesake still as the surrounding street. A block later, he was out in front of Hawke's place. _Hawke's **uncle's** place_ , he amended, leaning back against the wall, casually. He was in shadows here, but once the sun rose, they would shift. _Today, he was up and ready. Today, Hawke would not have to make the trek to Darktown._

He hadn't been there long, when shouting drifted from the ventilation windows high on the walls of the house: Gamlen and Hawke, arguing, Carver sticking his nose in where it wasn't needed, by the sound. Shortly thereafter, the door banged open and Carver began to stalk out, pausing when he spotted Anders. "For the love of - " He turned back to the door. "Brother. Company," he said shortly, and then continued on his way without a word or so much as a nod for the mage.

Anders winced. Not exactly how he had envisioned it. Now he was an intruder on the family's morning. He half thought about leaving for the Hanged Man before Hawke could come out and be cross with him. _Yes. That was what he would do. He would just-_

Hawke opened the door, and it took him a moment to find Anders. When he did, his eyes darted over him for a moment. The set of his jaw bespoke his annoyed mood. But he grabbed up his staff and let the door slam behind him. "Let's get out of here," he greeted.

Anders fell into step beside him, quietly offering, "I hope I wasn't interrupting..."

"Today it was the right kind of interruption," he said, voice hard.

Anders nodded, quietly exhaling his relief. "I woke up early, figured I'd spare you the walk today."

"And here I thought you needed something," he said dryly.

"Company, actually," he admitted. "Had some nasty dreams. The kind that don't want to shake when you're awake. Want some breakfast?"

Hawke nodded. "Breakfast or no, I need a few hours away from Carver," he said darkly. "Do you need to talk about them, then?"

"Oh, ah... I'm not sure you want to hear about them. Do you?" He lifted a brow, regarding Hawke in the dim light.

"Might as well."

Anders shrugged. "It's a Grey Warden thing, actually... The dreams, I mean. An unfortunate side effect of joining the order. They aren't like normal dreams, or even nightmares. They're brutal, they'll shake you good. Maker, this one was..."

Hawk glanced at him. "Do Wardens have different dreams? I didn't realize that."

"They're real hush hush with the trade secrets. I mean, they aren't going to come for me, for telling or anything, but... Yeah, they're different. Darkspawn dreams."

"So this isn't a typical Fade dream, either, I take it?"

"No, it isn't." He admitted. "See, Wardens have a sort of... well, connection to the Darkspawn." He grimaced. "It's not as bad as it sounds, but..."

Hawke glanced at him. "So mage, abomination, and connected with darkspawn," he said, lips twitching. "Let's forget to point out the full triumvirate to Fenris."

Anders flinched, glancing away. "Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time. Not that I had any choice in the matter, exactly. Anyway, yes, the Wardens gain a connection to the Darkspawn. They can sense their presence, which, as I'm sure you can imagine, comes in handy in the Deep Roads. The tradeoff is that we're subjected to some of their... hivemind communications. If you can even call them that."

"But, the Blight's over," Hawke said, watching him.

"Yes," he breathed a heavy sigh, "and thank Andraste's sweet ass for that. But they aren't all gone, Hawke. They're never **all** gone."

"Right, I suppose they aren't - do you have a preference of a place to eat, beyond the Hanged Man? I'm...lacking the patience for that."

"Actually, I saw an old woman with a meatpie cart, over near the foundries. Bet she makes a fortune when they switch shifts. What do you say? I'll buy, this morning." He grinned.

"You, buy?" Hawke's brows lifted. "You **must** be desperate for company. I'm getting the drinks. Cofee or tea?"

"Coffee. I've been thinking about how you're saving up for your expedition. I know a meal here or there isn't much, but I wanted to help where I could."

"You say that while your robe is patched to the Void..."

"When we get back from the Deep Roads, I'll get a new one," he smiled. "Unless you think I'm too unstylish to be a part of your crew?"

"It is a concern," Hawke said dryly. "Not as glaring a concern as Varric's chesthair, but it is there."

He laughed softly. "I didn't realize what a grave offense I was making. Of course, if I spring for a new robe, I'll be boiling this old one for broth."

Hawke frowned. "I think the Hanged Man holds the patent for that."

He snorted. "Yes, and I'm fairly certain there are stains on it best not consumed."

"I've no doubt," Hawke said, voice still flat and dry.

"I was talking about **blood** ," Anders insisted. They rounded a corner and the meat pie cart came into view. Unfortunately the savory smell was lost amongst the strong foundry fumes.

"We can take it somewhere else to eat," Hawke said. "You order, I'll find coffee."

Anders nodded and approached the cart, ordering a pair of pies. He paid for them and the old woman handed them over, wrapped in paper. They were hot enough that his fingers stung a bit, but he didn't drop them. Slowly, he moved away from the cart, and more importantly, the foundry district, mouth watering at the scent of the pies. He casually scanned the street, watching for Hawke. As he waited, Anders was passed by early morning workers on their way to the foundries, and a pair of Templars who didn't so much as glance his way. When Hawke returned, he had two large and steaming cups of dark, rich coffee. Anders grinned when he saw him, and stepped closer, offering Hawke a pie. Then he paused blinking. They both had their hands full.

Hawke gave a snort, that slight curling of his lips that Anders had learned to recognize as amusement as he jerked his head toward the marketplace. "Let's find a better place to eat."

"Right." Anders smiled even wider, ever so pleased by Hawke's almost smile. He followed the other mage's lead, breathing deep the scent of coffee and meat pie. His stomach growled audibly. It was loud enough that Hawke looked pointedly at him, then dropped his eyes to his belly. When he looked to his face again, he lifted a brow.

Anders shrugged. "Hey, I'm working on it," he said in his own defense, lifting the pies. "Have you found us a good spot?"

Hawke was leading them upward, toward Hightown. At least, the outer, less highbrow edges of it. "There's a good place Fenris and I ate breakfast last week. Very quiet, no strange smells, doesn't get a lot of traffic."

Anders's smile dimmed considerably at this, his pleasure for this morning meal cooling far quicker than the still-hot pies. "Sounds good," he answered quietly.

"I introduced him to this bakery mother likes, but they're not exactly welcoming of an elf in the dining room, so - here," Hawke said, taking another turn, and they entered a small, secluded park, early morning shadows flittering through the branches of carefully tended trees. Anders trailed after him, willing Hawke to _stop speaking about Fenris_. Hawke did, _Maker be praised_ , claiming a bench, motioning Anders to join him.

The healer settled down beside him, and promptly set his paper wrapped pie on the bench beside him, offering his empty hand to Hawke, to take a coffee from him.

Hawke handed him the coffee, trading for his own pie, giving it a sniff. "What's in this, anyway?"

Anders lifted his brows. "Um, meat? And maybe some potato. I haven't had one of these since..." He frowned, and sipped at his coffee. "Not since I was very young."

"So you're reasonably certain it's not rat and sawdust?" Hawke asked, taking his first, experimental bite.

"What you're referring to is Darktown cuisine, and yes, I'm reasonably certain this is something else." He collected his own pie and took a bite. The hot juice dripped down his chin.

Hawke glanced at him, and gave a half laugh at that dribble of juice.

Anders chuckled around his mouthful, dragging his sleeve across his chin as he peered at Hawke. "Not bad.."

"I can't tell if your enthusiasm does it credit, or if you were hungrier than I thought," he said, reaching for his coffee.

"Come on, its not that bad, really. Is it?" He had thought it was pretty good.

"It's not terrible," Hawke allowed. That upturn of his lips was more clearly a grin now.

Anders shook his head, laughing ruefully. "It figures. Well I'll just have to make it up to you some other time, then."

"I'll hold you to that," Hawke said. He took another bite and offered what was left to the healer. "You finish mine off, too."

"Are you sure?" He asked, genuinely surprised. He set down his coffee and reached for the remainder of Hawke's pie. He most certainly would devour both.

"Couldn't take another bite," Hawke said, settling back into the bench, stretching his arms out along the backrest as his amber eyes surveyed the empty park.

Anders did devour both pies in short order, and was sucking the meat juices from his fingers, before he lifted his coffee for another drink. "Thanks, Hawke."

"You bought them," the other mage said casually, lifting his own drink.

He laughed softly. "I meant, just talking, asking about my dream. Good company. I really appreciate that."

"It's not...something I'm used to yet."

"But you're making the effort, and, for what it's worth, it means a lot."

He grunted softly, and sipped his coffee, eyes on the scenery rather than the other mage.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an extra-long chapter, because I haven't updated in so long. Hope you like it. <3

With belly warm and full, Anders slowly settled back into the bench, sighing contentedly. It was a beautiful day, this quarter of the city was quiet, almost peaceful, the part was clean and smelled fresh and pleasant, and Hawke was there at is side. His gaze drifted to the other mage and he grinned.

"He doesn't know it yet," Hawke said after a lengthy silence, sounding thoughtful, "but I'm considering leaving Carver behind on the expedition."

Anders let go a low whistle. "He's not going to like that," he said. "But, I understand your intent."

"Mother's been at me about it for weeks, and I'm getting tired of it - but frankly, she has a point. Bethany died because of me. If Carver -"

Anders shifted to face Hawke, and considered reaching out a hand, though he resisted the urge for now. His face was open, compassionate, and he spoke in quiet tones. "Hawke, it's probably for the best. The Deep Roads are **dangerous**."

"He won't thank me for the decision," Hawke said, voice hard.

"Of course he won't," Anders said softly. "But that doesn't make it any less right. Hawke, Carver will forgive you one day, but if you take him and something happens, you won't be able to forgive yourself."

He nodded, lifting his coffee, not looking at Anders as he fell into a thoughtful silence.

Anders watched him a moment longer, finishing the last of his own coffee. "How much longer, do you think? Until the expedition is funded?"

"Another week," Hawke said. He hesitated. "Are you still willing?"

Anders nodded resolutely. "I told you I would go, and I shall. Besides, someone needs to watch your back against darkspawn, right? And Maker forbid you need a healer. I'm pretty much indispensable." He grinned.

"Yes," Hawke said, without even a hint of humor. "You are."

The healer smiled wider and glanced away, feeling pleased, and far happier than he'd been in some time. "I'll be ready, Hawke."

Hawke nodded, looking something like relieved, balancing the cup on his knee. "This is good," he said after a moment. "I might not bloody Carver's nose when I get home."

Anders laughed softly, hoping, for Carver's sake, that Hawke had been making a joke. "That is probably for the best. But, no work today?"

"Carver wanted to take care of it without me," he said darkly. "I think he took Varric and Aveline and Merrill. He's sweet on her - wants to look like a big man."

"Who? Merrill?!" He asked, brows climbing. A moment's thought only, told him it had to be her. "Well, at least he took Varric and Aveline along, right? They'll keep him out of the worst of it, right?"

Hawke wore a somewhat troublesome smirk - _was he pleased?_ \- as he lifted his cup. "He wanted to bring Fenris instead of Aveline," he said. "He was told to go fuck himself, I believe. And he can't look Isabela in the face anymore, so..."

Anders studied Hawke's face, the almost impish expression so entirely foreign to the man's bearded countenance. "I see," he said, though he sounded very much as though he did not.

He cleared his throat. "You'll probably still need to do some healing when they get back."

Anders nodded. "Of course. What was the job, anyway?" he asked, curious.

"Bandits on the coast. Nasty business, they hole down in every cave and set traps - but the pay is good. I shouldn't have let him go without me; I know he'll foul it up." He finished off the coffee. "I'll likely end up **owing** money on this."

"We could head out there and check up on them?" Anders offered.

"Oh **that** would go well."

He winced, lifting a hand. "Alright, alright... Well then, we'll just have to think of something else to occupy your thoughts so you don't worry yourself some early greys."

Hawke scratched at his beard thoughtfully. "I think it would look distinguished."

Anders grinned. "Yes, but you're a bit young for it."

He glanced at him a moment, then his lips twitched, almost a grin. "It's easy to forget that."

"Such a dutiful fellow, was young Messere Hawke," Anders intoned in an affected scholarly accent, "alas, he did worry himself into an early grave. One of only two such documented cases..."

He grimaced. "Only two? We should plan another drinking night. I don't get many opportunities to act like a young man."

Anders perked. "Now that sounds like a plan. Only maybe less gambling this time?"

"Where's the fun in that?"

"It's only the clothes off my back, after all," he chimed in lightly. "Not that they're worth much. Maybe I could use services as tender," he smirked.

"I'm sure you could," he shrugged.

Anders eyed him askance. "When they get back, then?"

"If Carver's had his full of being a prat and no one's too injured, you mean?"

"Well, we don't **have**  to wait for them," he said lightly.

Hawke stared at him a moment, blinked slowly, then seemed to understand. "Oh. No, I thought you meant - you know, house cleaning services, or healing or---not..."

Anders made a soft sound of amusement, lifting a hand and flicking his eyes skyward. "Calm down, I'm not going to throw myself at you, Hawke. I can respect that you aren't interested in that sort of thing at the moment. It was mostly a joke, anyway. I've got some coin, believe it or not. Not that I intend to blow it all playing cards... Anyway, I meant we didn't need to wait to start drinking. I'm pretty sure the Hanged Man serves at all hours."

He stared at him a moment, considering. "I do like the idea of being happy and drunk when Carver comes limping home," he said.

Anders nodded soberly. "Might take the edge off any potential altercations. So what do you say?"

"It's not even noon yet," he chuckled. "All right, but I want to stop by and check on Fenris first. I'll meet you there. I'm sure Isabela will want to contribute, too."

Whatever Anders had been going to say, it never made it past his lips. His brows pinched ever so slightly, and he nodded, looking away. Then he hoisted himself off the bench. "Alright. Guess I'll drag her out of bed, then," he said, standing with his back to Hawke. "See you soon."

"You don't **have**  to," Hawke pointed out. "But she'll probably want to join us once she is up." Unlike Fenris, who he suspected he'd have to pry into daylight with a crowbar.

"Right," he answered, glancing over a shoulder at Hawke. He could have explained that ne had no intention of going anywhere near Isabela's bed, but what did it matter, really?

"Give me an hour," Hawke said. "And thanks for breakfast."

He didn't look back this time, simply lifting a hand in a wave as he made his way out of the park and toward the passage to Lowtown.

~~~~~~~~~

As it turned out, a yawning Isabela was just coming into the Hanged man's common room as Anders arrived. She looked none too alert, but was up and dressed - sort of. The mage approached her. "I didn't expect to see you up so early," he said by way of a greeting.

"Ooh, it's too early to deal with you," she yawned again, spreading her fingers wide and planting her hand in his face, pushing him away, gently but firmly.

Anders shook his head, stepping back. "Look, Hawke and I were going to drown our sorrows today. He thought you might want to join us, but if you aren't interested..."

"Oh but I am, I very very am," she said sweetly, turning back to him with a little smile. "You get the first round, then."

Anders sighed, gesturing to a table while he approached the bar. He realized immediately that he had no idea what their drink of choice was called, and stood there for a brief moment, pensive, as the barkeep ignored him. The fellow was hunched over a large, upended keg, furiously scribbling on a ragged piece of parchment. Anders took note, and was curious, but he wasn't going to poke his nose where it didn't belong.

"Two of the, ah, usual?" He said, uncertainly.

The bartender grunted, noncommittally.

Anders frowned at him for a moment longer but the man continued to write, covering the page with a cramped, awkward hand. Finally he turned away, spying Isabela sprawled in a high-backed chair -  _where had she found that? -_ with her boot heels propped up on the table. Despite her daintily crossed ankles, her position revealed a scandalous amount of dusky thigh. Anders regarded her for a moment, then approached the table, taking a seat on her left.

"So..." He began.

"I don't see any drinks," she complained.

"They're coming," he assured her.

"Nnn..."

Anders lifted both hands to rub at his face. This morning was still a pleasant memory, and he retreated into it, escaping the grime and drudge of the Lowtown tavern. Of the ornery Rivaini at his side, and the questions, the meddlesome questions that wore at him all the way down here.

Several minutes passed in relative silence, and then Isabela made a lewd sounding groan, arching her back in - _what? A stretch?_ Whatever it was, it drew the mage's eye. Probably a calculated move on her part. Her bosom strained against the flimsy, sun bleached linen of her shirt. If it could be called a shirt.

She fixed him with a scrutinous gaze. "You look miserable," she pointed out. "What's the problem?"

Anders sighed loudly and rolled his eyes.

"You know what I think," Isabela began, idly running her fingertips along her exposed thigh.

"Hard telling," Anders said, before she could offer him her pearl of wisdom. And then, the drinks arrived. He took his mug up and drank at once, wheezing at that familiar burning.

She never took her eyes off him, smirking a bit. "You aren't much of a drinker. You're boring, and lonely, and you need a bath. That's what I think." With that, she drained her own tankard in one long guzzle, slamming the empty down loudly, twice.

Anders regarded his drink in silence.

Isabela tsked. "And you've got no balls."

The mage shot her a glare, scoffing unhappily.

She smirked, arching a brow in challenge. "Or do you?"

He met her stare for a long moment, then lifted his mug and drained it as she had, even going so far as to bang the empty twice. It was a struggle not to splutter or cough, but he managed to suppress any such reactions. Thank the Maker he'd at least taken that first sip.

Two more drinks were brought over, and Isabela flashed a smile up at the waitress. "Bring us a pitcher, darling," she drawled. "Each." She tucked a sovereign into the waitress's belt, the yellow flash of gold visible for a moment only.

Anders reached for his new mug, and Isabela mirrored him. They locked gazes again, his narrowed, hers playful. As one, they lifted their mugs and drank.

It was over an hour before Hawke's broad shoulders filled the door of the Hanged Man. He backed into it to open it, his attention on the small, darkly dressed elf who followed him inside.

Fenris wore an odd expression that could only be described as reluctant amusement. Had Carver been there, he would have recognized the rare expression on his brother's face. Hawke was attempting to crack one of his painfully awkward jokes. "-and the arl said, 'that's not a hurlock, that's my mother in law.'" The terrible joke lacked even a proper delivery, Hawke's serious voice stealing what little humor the joke had, but- The elf laughed.

Anders had been trying to refill Isabela's mug from the pitcher, but missed it completely, pouring a stream of booze onto the tabletop, where it sizzled ominously,

She was laughing, but at this, she threw her head back and roared in laughter, breasts shaking precariously in their flimsy confines.

The mage laughed as well, making a second attempt at pouring her drink, this time with her hands guiding his. They managed it together, and once the pitcher was set aside, they raised their mugs in a salute, pausing as Isabela noticed Hawke and Fenris come in.

She glanced at Anders and jerked her chin to the door. He looked, grinning widely and easily at the sight of the large mage. "Hawke!" He called.

Hawke made his way through the tavern, winding through the mostly empty tables, and though Fenris had sobered, the elf followed. "Your head start was productive, I see," Hawke said by way of greeting.

Anders was still grinning like a fool. "Thought we'd have to send a rescue party looking for you," he quipped jovially.

Isabela laughed again. "Well, maybe, but it wouldn't have been either of us. We're in the middle of something here, right?" She hoisted her still full mug. "And there;s a card game coming, too. Anders, you said we would play Wicked Grace."

He chuckled. "I did. If Hawke wants to. We ought to let him catch up first, though."

"Not a chance!" She cried, elbowing him hard enough that his drink sloshed.

He looked at her and she nodded, he did too, and they both chugged their drinks, slamming the empties on the moist table in unison.

Hawke's brows rose but he nodded, glancing at Fenris, who looked marginally uncomfortable. "I'll spot you a few coins," Hawke said lowly, pulling out a chair. The elf's answering nod was the briefest of things. Hawke waved the barmaid over.

Isabela cocked her head to one side, her eyes flicking between Hawke and Fenris. Anders did likewise, but with a frown. He wasn't entirely sure he'd heard Hawke right, so he didn't comment, but... "Hawke and I were discussing non-monrtary tender in games," he began.

"Like clothes! Oh yessssss!" Isabela chuckled, and her eyes raked over the elf, no doubt hoping to win a piece or three of his.

"Well, yes. But what about services?" Anders pressed.

Fenris stiffened, more at the mention of services than clothes, as Hawke eyed Anders. "You're very caught on this idea," he said.

He laughed lightly. "Well I dont have much in the way of gold or clothes... I can do lots of things, so, why not try?"

Isabela appeared entirely intrigued by the notion. "So, wait... By services you mean..." She laughed. "You'd better be sure it's something your opponent actually has a use for." She laughed again, entirely amused.

Anders sighed, his mood darkening. "It doesn't have to be **that**. Maker's breath..."

Hawke's eyes were on Fenris, whose distaste for the idea was obvious. "Why not a choice," he offered. "Gold or clothes or services, the choice is with the gambler what they want to risk. But the clothes should be given back - the humiliation of showing skin should be payment enough."

"Well, of course! I didn't mean everyone had to do it just because..." Anders trailed off, following Hawke's gaze to Fenris. "I was only speaking for myself. And only asking if you lot found it acceptable. If you're giving the clothes back, then I'll just..." He dropped his gaze to his empty mug, no longer feeling especially interested in playing the game.

Isabela looked at them all, each in turn. "Wicked Grace is more fun in large groups," she said, "or in pairs," she added, her meaning heavy. She leaned forward and refilled her mug.

"You propose something else?" Fenris asked her.

"Drink," Isabela insisted. "And we'll swap stories instead." She refilled Anders's mug and gave him a little nudge in the leg with the toe of one boot.

He looked at her quizzically, and she winked at him, lifting her mug. He grudgingly lifted his own, then glanced to Hawke.

"Now that is something I'm good at," Fenris said, relaxing visably, even managing a bit of a smile. He was still learning how to play, still finding where he fit in the group, and already owed Varic a hefty sum neither of them would let Hawke take care of.

Hawke noted the playful jousting between Isabela and Anders, and his lips twitched into a smile. He took the drinks the barmaid brought and ordered several more.

Isabela and Anders drained their mugs without so much as a flinch, and she asked for refills on the pitchers. Once the barmaid was gone, she gripped the table's edge and leaned forward, eyeing the men again. "Alright, who first?!"

Anders shied from her gaze, not particularly over the little misunderstanding regarding 'services' just yet. He pressed his lips together firmly, and waited.

"You're the drunk ones," Hawke pointed out. "We need time to catch up."

"Right," Isabela acknowledged, and poked Anders with her foot again. "Go."

He shot her a Look. Then sighed. "What kind of story?" He asked warily.

Isabela clapped a hand to her face. "Anders, it doesnt have to be your life story. Just... Something interesting, entertaining. You know, a good story."

He sighed. "Alright...Well, there was this apprentice, Sacha, she was a few years older than me, and rumor had it she was seen dancing naked in the observatory, late at night. So a few of us decided we'd sneak up there and have ourselves a peek, right?" His mouth quirked crookedly. "Well she was up there, alright, and quite a sight in the light of the moon spilling through the big skylight. One of my age-mates, this son of a bann, thought to," he paused to chuckle, "give himself a thrill, there in the dark while we spied on her. Except that instead of casting Grease, he froze himself solid with Winter's Grasp."

A look of pain crossed Hawke's face and he shifted, hand falling to his own lap. Fenris looked very satisfied with the punch line. "It's such a messy spell anyway," the elf muttered into his tankard, and ignored it when Hawke looked at him in question.

"Well??" Isabela prompted. "What happened? Did he cry? Were you caught? Did he thaw okay?"

Anders merely shrugged and refilled his mug.

"You don't know?" Hawke asked, incredulous.

Anders met Hawke's incredulity with a little smirk. Oh, he was pleased that they wanted more. "The truth of it is, he shrieked like a little girl, and Sacha, startled, almost leveled an entire wall of the observatory with a lightning bolt. Lucky for those of us who were hiding, the moment the bann's son made a sound, we scrambled back to our beds... It was said that he broke it off, though i never saw enough to confirm that."

The story earned a pleased snicker from Fenris, though he was reluctant to laugh at anything the abomination had to say. Hawke laughed as well, but not without wincing.

Isabela wrinkled her nose, but was oddly fixated on the idea. "What was his name? I need to look into this."

Anders grimaced and shook his head.

She grumped a moment, kicking him again, but he would not relent, so she turned her attention to the elf. "Your turn."

He paused, tankard halfway to his lips. "Pass."

"But you said you were good at telling stories!" Isabela complained. "Come on, you have to!"

Anders sipped at his mug, absently, watching Hawke without even realizing it.

Fenris scowled. "Do you want the story of the dozen children the magisters taught to sing the anthem then slaughtered for a party, or the story of the seven virgins forced to test the limits of that damned grease spell for a winter soire?" He demanded. "I said pass."

Isabela neither flinched, reacted to his examples, nor showed any sign of shame for having pressed him. "You need to drink more," she said lightly, pouring herself another mug.

Anders looked at her. "You know, I keep...thinking I know you from somewhere..."

She looked at him for a moment, lifting a brow, then suddenly, as though a thought had occurred to her, said, "Wait, you're Fereldan, right? Ever been to Denerim? Ever spend time at the Pearl?"

"That's it!" Anders exclaimed, snapping his fingers. "You had a thing for that girl with the griffin tattoos. What was her name?"

"The Lay Warden," she grinned.

"Right, right... I wonder if you were there the night that I -"

"Wait! Were you the runaway mage who could do that electricity thing? That was nice..." She practically purred.

"Now how did you fail to lead with that one?" Hawke asked as Fenris, disgusted, took the advice and drank deeply.

Anders smirked slightly at Isabela's recollection, but at Hawke's question, he flushed pink. "Honestly, I'd forgotten all about that. Well that it was her... You do look different, now." He said this last bit to Isabela.

She nodded, still drinking. "Don't we all?"

"Well?" Hawke prompted. He was in his second drink now.

Anders stared into his mug, lips twitching downward just a bit. "It was my...sixth escape," he began, the gravity of recalling those days weighing on him.

"Sixth?" Hawke repeated. Fenris waved the barmaid over for more drinks.

Anders glanced at Hawke, met his eyes for a fleeting moment before dropping his gaze to the scarred table. "I couldn't stay there. I had to get out. But they had my phylactery, so they would always find me... They put me in solitary confinement after that."

Hawke frowned even as Fenris grumbled something decidedly anti-mage under his breath. "But, now you're out," Hawke said firmly.

"Yes I am," he sighed, and drank deep.

"Alright, enough with the sob stories," Isabela announced perkily. "I'm going to tell you lot about the time I escaped from Admiral An DuBois without a stitch of clothing or even a blade. Prepare yourselves!"

Hawke frowned at Anders a moment before turning his attention to Isabella.

"Don't tell me you rutted him to death," Fenris said dryly. "Or did your undercarriage sprout teeth and devour him alive?"

She froze for a moment, mouth hanging open.

Anders blinked, eyeing the elf.

"And who are you?" Isabela asked with an arched brow. "Sorry, you look like Fenris, but you sound like someone with a sense of humor."

"I have a sense of humor," the elf said darkly, lifting his glass again. The ale's influence made his ears redden as he hunched his shoulders.

"Apparently so," she said, sounding suddenly very interested.

"Hawke laughs at my jokes," he said defensively.

"I do," Hawke agreed with something like a grin. While drink was slowly chipping the elf's defenses, making things like blushes possible, he was relaxing the big mage at his side. A few more and they would certainly be interesting to watch.

She glanced between them, then smiled. "Ah. Yes, good."

Anders drained his mug, and set it down, without making a move to refill it. "So? How did you do it?" He asked, tone a touch brusque in the wake of...whatever had just transpired.

"Unless Fenris's guess was accurate?" Hawke arched a brow.

She tsked and leaned back in her chair, dropping her boots on the tabletop. "You fellows aren't passing judgement, now are you?"

"If your undercarriage is capable of growing teeth and devouring a man, there would be a little judgement, yes," Fenris said seriously. "Also it would be something good to keep aware of."

"Here here," Hawke said, saluting with his mug.

"Only if you were planning to take a roll in the sheets with me," she purred, winking at the elf.

"Can't say as I remember any teeth," Anders mused helpfully. Maybe Isabela would ensnare Fenris. He could hope, anyway.

"I've no intention of any such thing," the elf groused.

"But what if we're out on the Storm Coast and it gets hungry?" Hawke asked, unhelpfully. "You haven't answered the man's question."

"We could all be in danger," Fenris agreed solemnly. He glanced at Isabela with a small grin.

"Somebody will have to take one for the team, I suspect," she said with an impish little grin.

If Fenris laughed, it was quickly covered by a coughing fit, no doubt brought on by the cheap ale.

Anders side-eyed Fenris, not entirely sure what to make of him. He was very nearly tolerable today, which was both annoying and a relief. He tapped his fingers on the table. "You know, the story of my seventh escape is really the best one."

"Do tell," said Hawke, who was watching Fenris, and seemed to be enjoying what he saw.

"Well, after I got out of solitary, I was a mess. Desperate like you can't imagine. I found out that the phylacteries had been moved to Amaranthine, because of the fighting in Denerim, so once I slipped the noose, that's where I went. It was a trap, of course. Templars were waiting for me, six of them. There's really no fighting six to one, but I tried." He sighed, and gave his head a rueful shake. "It was late, and they wanted to get out of Amaranthine, so they took me to Vigil's Keep. That's an old stronghold recently granted to the Grey Wardens, you see?"

Isabela poured him a fresh mug as she listened. He modded his thanks and paused for a sip.

Fenris's gaze was flat; clearly he thought the mage should have stayed where he belonged.

"I imagine they were none too happy with you," Hawke said.

"Oh, they loved it," he quipped, bitterly. "When we stepped out of line, they got to exert their power..." He scowled into his mug for a moment, and then his expression lightened again. "Anyway, it just so happened that we arrived at the Keep the night it was invaded by darkspawn. Came up through the cellars. There was a passage to the Deep Roads down there. Anyway, the Templars fell to those beasties, and the new Warden Commander - the Hero of Ferelden - arrived just in time to find me, unsupervised. I helped clear the Keep, and they conscripted me. The Circle couldn't lay claim on me after that." He wore a smug little smile.

"A pity," Fenris said darkly, reaching to refill his mug. "Shouldn't you be in the Wardens' care, then? Instead of putting everyone in Kirkwall at risk?"

Anders bristled, and visibly restrained himself for a pair of seconds. "I'm -helping- people, here." He said, through grit teeth. "The Wardens were a death sentence."

"The wardens don't help people, then?" Fenris asked flatly, lifting his brows.

"This isn't a Blight," he replied tersely.

"So, then, poof. Warden responsibilities out the window."

"I didn't join them by choice. It was the Right of Conscription! Why is it so hard to understand that I just want to live my life without being under someone's thumb?"

Fenris opened his mouth, then closed it, glaring daggers for a moment before he finally said, "It's not the desire to live free that is the issue."

"Yes, well, I wasn't exactly given a choice in that, either." He answered coldly.

"What happened to the happy story thing we were doing?" Hawke asked. "I liked that."

"I think I'm done with stories," Anders said darkly. He planted his hands on the table and hoisted himself to his feet. "I'm going for a walk."

"It's not even dark out," Hawke pointed out. Beside him, Fenris snorted, reaching for a refill.

"If the abomination wants to go, let him."

"If Carver or the others need me, I'll be in my clinic," he grated, propelled by Fenris's hateful words out the door and several turns through the winding Lowtown backalleys before he at last slowed, sagging, despondent.

It was only a few moments before Hawke joined him. He'd made excuses to the other two - Fenris only grumbled and Isabela promised to look out for the elf - but he'd still had to jog to catch up so quickly, knowing about the direction to head.

Anders was leaning heavily against a rough wall, head hung. When he heard the approaching footsteps, he tensed, hand twitching. But he did not cast, it could have been anyone. Someone who didn't know him and didn't care. He waited for them to be on their way.

"Don't tell me you've yet to realize Kirkwall is a dangerous place to be wandering drunk," Hawke said by way of greeting.

He wasn't entirely sure if he was pleased that it was Hawke. He knew he wanted it to be, but something inside him - Justice, likely - told him that he oughtn't. "The sun's still high in the sky," he answered, rubbing at his face and not looking at Hawke. He couldn't.

"How often does that mean anything?" Hawke asked, reaching for his arm. "Come on, I'll get you home." For all that he had been relaxed and nearing happy-tipsy zone not too long before, he was his stern, guarded self now.

"I'm fine," Anders said, straightening from the wall but still not looking at him. "I can make it. I'm not really that drunk. Justice..." He trailed off, frowning.

His lips thinned. "Justice what?" he asked. He still had hold of his arm, just above his elbow. Before Anders could answer he shook his head. "You had an hour's head start on me, and you were with Isabela. I'm making sure you get back safe. Last thing I need is to find you naked in a gutter with your shoes gone and all your hair chopped off."

Anders craned his neck to peer at Hawke, then, blinking myopically. "What? Why would I? Hawke I'm not that drunk. I think Justice shelters my brain from the worst of it. I don't know. I feel... shitty, but not drunk."

He lifted his brows, "You want me to go?"

Anders sagged again. "No," he admitted. "But I'm sure you'd rather be in the Hanged Man than walking me down to Darktown. And I'd really rather you weren't angry with me."

"Do I look angry at you?" Hawke scowled.

Anders peered at him. "Yes."

Hawke blinked, then looked surprised. "Oh."

Anders actually laughed, a soft a pitiful excuse for a laugh, but still. "Hawke, I'll be fine in a few hours. I promise to take care of Carver and the others when they get back. I'm sorry I ruined your fun, but I can't stay in there and listen to that. I wont. So I'm just going back home for awhile..."

"There are just...some topics that probably should be best avoided," Hawke said. "Not everyone is going to agree with you. Particularly not Fenris - but he is an important part of this, as are you."

"Fine. I can hold my tongue if he can," he answered, placated at being considered important, if comparative with Fenris.

"I'm....not sure he knows how," Hawke said with a wince. "Just - look, you two barely know each other. His opinions aren't personal. You've both been through a lot, I'm sure."

Anders nodded grudgingly.

"It's going to be a long expedition if the two of you argue the whole way through the Deep Roads."

"Like I said, I can hold my tongue. But I can't really abide being shat on for things beyond my control..." A bit of edge came into his tone. He did **not** like Fenris. _What was that guy's problem with mages anyway??_

Hawke frowned at him for a moment, then shrugged and turned away, scratching at his beard. "If the best I can hope for is the two of you ignoring each other, then so be it," he said.

Anders turned, surprised Hawke was turning away. He leaned against the wall again.

"Be on the lookout for footpads," Hawke said. "I mean it. I'm going to be furious if you get yourself mugged in broad daylight because you were too stubborn to let me help." He began to walk away.

Anders watched him go, folding his arms tight around himself. He wanted to call out to Hawke, to ask for his help, but it seemed a foolish thing to do now that he'd insisted he didn't need him. Only after the other mage disappeared around a corner did he turn back onto his path and head into Darktown.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of this is not Anders PoV, but I thought it would be too fun to skip!

As Hawke disappeared out the Hanged Man's door, Isabela issued a low whistle and dropped her feet back to the floor, leaning forward until her bosom rested on the tabletop. She was studying Fenris, curious just what he thought of the whole thing. "Well now," she drawled, "just us two..."

He glanced briefly to the generous display of bosom, then up to her face, cocking a brow. "Are we to play another thrilling round of 'guess the elf's underwear'?" He asked dryly.

She flashed him a wicked grin. "Was that an offer, then? Let me see..." She pretended to think about it, rolling her eyes toward the ceiling, though she still watched him from her peripheries.

He snorted, amused, and reached for a refill. He was much more relaxed with the abomination gone. "You are a very strange woman."

"And you," she replied, looking at him directly once more, "are a very attractive man." She gave him a troublesome grin.

"You flatter me," he said, relaxing a little more, incrementally, like a cat who had minutes before been doused with water, but may have found a sunny spot to lay.

She laughed, a sultry sound. "Which means you think I'm shitting you. Guess you haven't seen a mirror lately."

"I'm afraid the mirrors at the mansion have all met a tragic end," he said, "but I assure you, I am well aware of the way I look. Denarius made quite certain of that." he gave half of a bitter laugh and saluted with his mug.

She lifted her own mug in reply, then drank deep. "Ah well," she sighed.

"So you think it wise to allow Hawke to follow the abomination alone like that?"

"What?" She lifted a quizzical brow. "Oh. Right. Look, I'm not getting in the middle of that little melodrama. But I will say this: Hawke can handle himself."

"So he's shown," he nodded, but he glanced toward the door anyway, as if awaiting his return. "Yet his heart is too soft," he stated firmly.

She had been peering into her empty mug, but at his words, she lifted her eyes to him. "Is that so?"

"I'm not lost on the irony - I myself would not be here if it were not so."

"Hmmmmm..." She smirked a bit.

"Neither, I think, would you," he pointed out.

"I live here," she told him with that selfsame smirk.

"I meant following Hawke," he said.

Isabela laughed again. "Well, yes. He's a fine source of work, coin, and fun." Her eyes twinkled. "And he's easy on the eyes."

Taking another drink, Fenris seemed to nod without realizing he was doing so.

She smiled smugly and leaned back in her chair again, boots back on the table. "We might have some time to kill," she said casually, directing a heated glance his way.

Fenris chuckled but shook his head. "I thought that was what the drinks were for."

"Suit yourself," she sighed, wiggling just a bit, as though to get comfortable.

He followed her movement with his eyes buit shook his head. It would be some years before he would find himself ready for the touch of another, after all, though the pirate's offer was certainly tempting. "This is what you do all day when Hawke isn't around?"

"Sometimes," she said with a grin. "And sometimes I get myself into trouble."

"Well that's shocking," he said dryly. "Want to take bets on how many body parts everyone still has when they return from Carver's excursion?"

"Ye of little faith. Carver's not so bad... Can't handle his drink, but otherwise..." She grinned.

"He strikes me as an idiot," he said without any real heat, shoulders lifting in a shrug.

"A cute idiot," she agreed. "But he's got mom and dad along, you know? Varric knows how to keep him out of trouble, and Aveline... Well I'm sure she'll beat anything that comes up into cowering submission with the power of the law."

"But the blood mage is there as well."

She adjusted a glove. "Oh, right. Well then. How are we doing this? Person and part? Or person, and part?"

"Just parts," he said.

She sleared her throat and dipped fingers into her cleavage, withdrawing a little coin pouch. "Two sovereigns on pride, five on patience."

His eyes followed the movement for a moment before he reached for his coin purse. He grimaced at what he found within.

She watched him. "I meant silver, of course." She laughed easily. "Hey, a girl can dream, right?"

"Silver is..." He hesitated. "How about a game of diamondback instead?" Fenris had found he was quite good at it.

She grinned. "You're on! Though we should play for skin! Just a quick peek." Her eyes twinkled. "What do you say? It'll spare the purse."

He hesitated, but if he lost more coin he wouldn't be eating until Hawke's next job. All right," he said slowly. Better than Anders's disgusting "services." And it wasn't as if he wasn't used to being put on display.

She watched him. "You thought you were going to win my coin, hm? Well... We could go coin for skin if you like, or..."

"I've nothing to be shy over," he said, almost defensively.

"I definitely missed something." Hawke had returned. He appeared tired and irritated, and he helped himself to a mug as he took his seat again.

Isabela cocked her head, eyeing Hawke curiously. "I didn't expect you back so soon, not that I'm not happy to see you, of course. We're starting diamondback, and we're just sorting out the tender. Any thoughts?"

"I don't care, name it," he snapped, draining the entire mug.

"You know she's going to say skin," Fenris said.

"Fine," Hawke shrugged. "Deal."

She chortled and took out her deck, shuffling. "So," she prompted, "pride or patience?" Judging the pair of men as lost, by their blank expressions, she elaborated. "Was it your patience, or Anders's pride which took the hit out there? As if I have to ask..."

Hawke grunted and made an impatient gesture for her to get on with it as he downed another cup.

"My coin is on both," she confided to Fenris with a wink, and began to deal.

**************

Two hours later, when Carver and the others came stumbling into the private room they had been POLITELY asked to move to, it was to find the three very drunk and in various states of undress. Hawke wore only pants, and as he didn't wear smallclothes, they were the last thing left to him, even his boots stacked neatly atop the pile of clothing. Fenris, who **was** rather good at diamondback, had lost his gauntlets, gloves, and belt, but nothing else, and Isabela...

Isabela may have been purposefully losing, just the spice up the mood, which had taken a nosedive thanks to Hawke, or probably more accurately, the absent Anders. She was wearing her golden jewelery, the sash around her hips, and little else. She had never really liked diamondback anyway. It was usually quite boring...

The group was beatup and exhausted but when they walked in, Carver stumbled and nearly fell flat on his face, while Merrill grew pink with a cry of "Oh. Oh dear. You **are** having a good time, aren't you?" Varric let loose a low whistle, but Aveline made a disgusted noise worthy of a certain Seeker.

Hawke's mood had improved with drink, but Isabela's ire was understandable for his lack of interest in her generous display. Fenris meanwhile seemed torn looking between the both of them.

Isabela showed no signs of modesty at the sudden, rather sizable audience. "Come to join in?" She slurred, eyes dancing across all the faces.

"Well. It. It would be rude not to, wouldn't it?" Merrill asked. Aveline silently shook her head and pulled the Dalish girl back even as Carver, who clearly needed healing, helped himself to a chair.

Fenris triumphantly put down a card. "Your pants are mine, Hawke!"

At the door, just behind Aveline and Merrill, Anders stood absolutely still. He had arrived, just after Carver's group, and was just going to offer healing, when Fenris had made his announcement. He made a soft sound, like something between a sigh and a scoff. It wasn't good. He turned and left for the common room.

This went unnoticed by the group. "Hawke, no," Aveline said sternly, even as he rose and stripped off his pants, letting all of his glorious large self free.

Which of course, Anders missed. He leaned against a wall in the common room, near the hearth, glaring into the embers, arms folded, staff in the crook of one elbow.

Everyone else, except a loudly complaining Carver, of course, and Aveline, who had averted her stare and taken it upon herself to shield Merrill's eyes, got an eyeful. Isabela grinned. "Well well..."

"Oh," Merrill said from behind Aveline's restraining hand. "That is quite. Um. Congratulations." She had caught most of it.

"You're all drunk," Aveline snapped. "Get them dressed!"

Varric chuckled and shook his head, ambling around the table toward Hawke. "C'mon, buddy. Let's get those pants back up." Isabela made a hissing sound at Aveline, but reached for her little dress, and tugged it on over head.

Fenris had very definitely paid attention to the view. "I won," he announced, sitting back in satisfaction. It hadn't been a terrible day.

"Yes, yes you did," Isabela said. "Maker, we all did, didn't we?"

"They asked to see, Varric," Hawke said as if to explain it all.

Varric took a deep breath and reached for Hawke's belt, tugging the trousers up for the big man. "And you didn't want to let them down, I get it. Well, you're the star of the show now, but I'm not sure how pleased you'll be tomorrow."

"Oh Maker!" Carver groaned. "Why did you let him do this?"

Fenris just looked pleased.

"He needed to cheer up," Isabela said with a shrug, lacing her corset with practiced fingers despite her inebriation. "He was in one of those moods."

"When isn't he in one of those moods?" Carver asked.

"Hawke," Merrill ventured. "How do you...well, you know. Walk. With that."

"Where's the healer?" Aveline asked impatiently.

"Off sulking, I imagine," Isabela sighed, slipping her tiny black panties up her thighs. She'd yet to rise, so they remained at mid-thigh as she reached for a boot.

Varric had managed to get Hawke's pants back on and get him back in his seat so he could put on his boots. His shirt was draped ineffectually over one broad shoulder. "If you want to hunt him down, I'll get everyone settled," the dwarf told Aveline.

The guardswoman determinedly steered Merrill out of the private room, despite the girl's protests that maybe she should stick around after all. They nearly missed the sight of Anders in the common area. Aveline's brow knit. "Why aren't you in there with the rest of the idiots?"

He turned from his glowering, face relaxing a bit when he saw that it was only Aveline and Merrill. "It might be contagious," he said, "the idiocy, I mean. So you're back. Everyone okay?"

"Carver could use some healing," Aveline said.

"The poor dear, I tried to help but healing is just so tricky, you know," Merrill said. "They made me stop when his nose swelled up but I do think I almost got it. I was very close anyway."

Anders regarded Merrill flatly for a moment. "You really shouldn't have," he said, then nodded to Aveline, and steeled himself as he marched back to the private room. This time, he stepped into the doorway, prepared for the worst.

"There were some nasty traps out there and we all got a bit singed," Merrill said brightly, following. "It was very exciting, really, and also, quite warm."

Back in the room, Hawke was half dressed and leaning heavily on the much smaller Varric as Fenris counted the small bit of coin he'd won in addition to skin.

"-should sing," Hawke was saying cheerfully. "All've us toghether, now! Ooooh~!"

"Maker, he's going to kill us all in the morning," Carver groaned, holding his head in his hands. Fenris seemed immeasurably pleased with himself.

Anders stood there, taking in the scene, quite bemused.

Isabela may have been dressed, but she was sprawled sideways in her chair, knickers still at her knees. She inhaled deep to sing along, until she spotted Anders. Gripping the table's edge, she hauled herself upright, pointing at him. "Ohhhhh ho ho ho. Yooooou missed a shoooow." She laughed in delight.

Anders moved toward Carver, his expression guarded now. "How is your nose?" He asked.

He reached up to touch it, wincing a little. "She told you about that?"

Anders ignored the others, cupped his hand, and soft blue energy coalesced there. Slowly, he settled the hand atop Carver's head, and a wave of cool, tingling healing washed through him. Most minor hurts were immediately righted, while anything more serious became immediately evident to the healer.

There had been nothing wrong with Carver's nose before Merrill's meddling, but it and the other wounds were quickly cared for, even as the Dalish girl watched in interest. "Oh!" She said. "So that's the trick! I'm certain I have it now!"

Hawke's song had been delayed by some comment by Fenris that had them both snickering like idiots; even sober the dorks enjoyed each other's sense of humor.

Being an emotional and emotionally distraught - though not completely unreasonable - person, Anders assumed the laughter was at his expense. He stiffened, face shifting into a scowl as he sorted out Carver's major wound in his leg. Just a quick heal and he could get out of here. He could feel Justice stirring at his rising emotions, and he was loathe to let him make an appearance.

"Just the chorus?" Hawke pled between bouts of laughter. Fenris shook his head, sniggering. "I'm not singing, Hawke!"

Finished with Carver, Anders stepped back, turning for the door, and apparently, Merrill. "Does anyone else need me, before I go?" He asked tersely.

"Anders, can you sing Empress of Fire?" Hawke called, trying to wave him over.

He didn't want to look at him, but he couldn't stop himself. One glimpse over his shoulder showed him just what he knew it would: Hawke was bare chested and sloppy drunk and waving him over, and he couldn't bear it. "No." He answered.

"What about Dreams of the Veil?" He asked, unbothered by the denial. He tried to make his way closer, but stumbled, Varric grunting as he propped him up.

"Ever think of laying off a couple meals, buddy?" Varric asked. "You're heavy."

"Hawke..." Anders sighed, and turned around. "You're really drunk."

"You should have staaaaaaaayed," Isabela crooned, unhelpfully.

Hawke flashed a huge grin. "I am!" He said brightly. "And you're missing all the fun."

"And you say I'm grumpy," Fenris chuckled to Varric.

The healer flinched slightly, glancing away, miserable. "Do you want me to stay?"

"Everyone should stay," Hawke said. "Drinks all around!"

"So you can blame me when the money's gone tomorrow?" Carver demanded.

"Carver is right, Hawke. This is coin you don't want to spend." Anders looked to the dwarf. "Varric?"

"I can't shuffle him all the way to Gamlen's alone," Varric said.

"I can take him," Anders answered, his expression serious. Where he might otherwise have relished such an opportunity, he now saw it as an important chore. "If you and Aveline can handle the others?" He studiously ignored the elf, who he would under no circumstances see back to Hightown.

"Why are we going home so early?" Hawke demanded with a frown that was more of a pout as Varric motioned for Anders to take him.

"We could always have a nice, big sleepover here!" Merrill said brightly.

"Not likely, Daisy," Varric said. To Anders he said, "the elf's got his feet better, I'll see him home if you can get the big guy."

He nodded gratefully to Varric and moved to Hawke. "I'll explain it to you when we get there," he told the other mage. "Where is your shirt?" But he spotted it, on the floor where it had slipped from the big man's shoulder. He stooped to collect it.

"I don't want that," Hawke protested as Aveline and Varric made plans for getting everyone home safe.

"Fine," he tucked a corner of the shirt in his belt, and slipped an arm around Hawke's waist, drawing a thick arm across his shoulders where he clutched his wrist for added support. "Alright, let's go." He leaned, trying to get big drunk Hawke started.

"If you're coming with me, how are you getting home?" Hawke asked, an oddly reasonable question even as, staggering, he began to walk.

"Don't worry, Hawke," Anders said, his tone more relaxed if not quite his normal self. He navigated them down the stair to the common room and around the tables to the door. "I know the way."

"You should stay," Hawke slurred. "Can't defend yourself alone if someone attacks. They'll **know**."

Anders frowned, ushering Hawke out into the bright Lowtown afternoon. "That's not a good idea, Hawke. Your uncle's place is small. I don't want to be a problem."

"Mother'll make a pallet for you, it'll be **fiiiine** ," he said.

"That's a kind offer, but I don't think so..." The truth was that he wanted it too much. And knew better than to let himself do it. Knew Hawke would sing an entirely different tune come morning. Might even look upon him with suspicion. That thought sent a stab through his heart.

Their boots scuffed along ancient, uneven paving stones, making a mostly lurch-free path toward Gamlen's. "Listen," Hawke said. "Listen. You don't want the floor, you can have Carver's bunk. Or mine. I'll take his- smells like old socks."

Anders stopped in his tracks, which resulted in a bit of a wobble for the pair of them. Hawke's bunk... "Maker, Hawke, what is your fixation on this? I can't stay with you." He struggled to get them moving again.

"Nobody should walk home alone." It was one of Hawke's rules, and he was the only exception, naturally. Sober, even on his most humorless days, he would see every member of his party safe. He only trusted himself not to get mugged on the walk back.

"Well, you're drunk, so we're doing things my way today." They were at the end of Gamlen's block now, just a few more doors...

"No," Hawke said. "We're not."

Anders gave an exasperated sigh. "Not that!"

"Not what? Listen - listen. Your legs'll fall off the end of the bed, and the mattress is lumpy. Better'n a knife in an alley."

Anders scoffed. "You don't think I could handle some hoodlum with a knife? Hawke, I was a Grey Warden..."

"You could," Hawke agreed, leaning heavily on him. He only slurred occasionally. "And by morning all - listen - all the Templars'd be at your place for breakfast. Can't have that. Mother makes great breakfast."

Anders sighed heavily, annoyed that he had to work so hard to turn Hawke down when he wanted nothing more than to stay with him. Maker, the man was stripped to the waist and pressed against him, and it was so hard just to think like a reasonable person. This was simply too much. "Andraste's tits, if you wake up angry with me for staying at your insistence, Hawke, I'll...I'll..."

"Everything'll be fiiiiine!"

"Famous last words," Anders muttered.


	13. Chapter 13

They were at Gamlen's stoop, at last, and Anders strained to haul the drunken Hawke up the narrow stone stair.

"See? Not everyone's out to get you," Hawke said. "You want my bed or Carver's?"

"I..." He hesitated, feeling painfully awkward. They were at the door. He reached for the handle. "It's locked... Do you have your key?"

Hawke blinked for a moment, patted down his bare chest, then seemed surprised as he looked down at himself. "Where's my shirt?" He laughed. He found his key in his pants pocket.

Anders reluctantly let go of Hawke, and pulled the shirt free of his belt, offering it up. He took the key and opened the door up, before holding it out for Hawke to take back. "Right, so let's just get you inside..."

Hawke was still laughing, and the sight of his shirt made him laugh all the more. He gripped the doorframe to pull himself into the house.

Leandra was at the writing desk, quill in hand, and rose at the sight of them, worry creasing her brow. "No," she said. "You are **not** coming home drunk again! How are you going to protect this house if you're drunk? How are you going to keep us fed if you spend all your coin on drink?"

Anders hesitated, neither expecting nor knowing quite how to react to her. "I'll just see him to bed, Mistress Hawke." He ducked his head, and pushed Hawke toward the room he'd been in the day they worked on the roof.

"He's staying," Hawke called as he was shuffled away. "I want eggs for breakfast!"

Anders winced, trying to hurry Hawke along. It was far too early for sleep, but if he could only get the man settled... Idly, he wondered if he could heal him sober. Then immediately discarded that thought. He was in no state for experimentation. Not on Hawke. He stuffed the large man through the door to the cramped bedroom with the bunks.

Hawke looked around when the door closed behind them on his mother's long suffering sigh. "I think there're clean sheets," he said. "Which bunk?"

"You should sleep in your own bunk, Hawke," Anders answered far more calmly than he felt.

"Listen - listen, you're the guest. Wait, what time is it? Do you need dinner?"

"I'm not going to bed, Hawke. You are."

He wavered for a moment, crossed his arms. "Am I?"

Anders blinked. "Well... You are pretty drunk. You really ought to sleep it off..."

"How do I know you won't leave?" Hawke, for all his faults, took people's saftey seriously. Being drunk just made it more obvious how he worried.

Anders hesitated, caught. "Hawke... Your mother is upset. I feel like my presence here is burdensome."

"She's always upset over something," he said. "You gave your word."

"I did," he agreed, "and I'll swear it if you want. If that will ease your mind. But will you believe me?"

"Sure," he said and, seemingly satisfied by that, stripped off his pants and climbed up into Carver's bunk to sleep. "Maker, it smells like socks," he grumbled to the pillow.

Anders stood there, feeling mildly dazed, and also mildly aroused, and overlaying both was a wariness for what was to come. After several minutes, he said, "I'm, going to have a word with Mistress Hawke, but I'll be back. I promise."

"If you leave the house before sunrise, I'll..." Hawke's mumble trailed off into another complaint about the smell.

"I won't," he said, "I promise," he repeated. Then he let himself out the door of the bedroom, pulling it closed behind him. He stood there for a moment, then drew closer to Leandra, though only a few steps. She didn't know him, and he certainly didn't want to frighten her. "I'm Anders," he began.

She looked up from her writing, eyes moving over him before she rose and gave him a nod like a high lady greeting a messenger boy. "Those boys will be the death of me," she said. "Thank you for bringing him home... Anders."

"It was nothing," he said. "I mean, you are welcome. Maker knows he looks out for us enough that someone ought return the favor." He paused, then began again. "Were it up to me, I would be out of your hair and on my way. But I've had to give my word I'll stay..." He grimaced slightly.

She sighed and tsked, shaking her head. "He is such a **child** ," she said. "It's a wonder anything gets done at all. I'll be relieved when he finds a wife to mind him. All right. What can I do to make you more comfortable? Food? We have a tub you can fill if you want to wash."

He blinked, then lifted a hand with a smile. "I won't make a nuisance of myself, Mistress Hawke. Though perhaps I will use the tub, ah, if that's alright?"

She gestured, turning back to her letter. "It's out back. The water pump gets jammed sometimes, just use your muscles. Wait until the water runs clear, mind."

"Yes, mistress. Thank you." He turned for the back door and let himself out into the afternoon sun. The tub was about what he expected, an aged metal number that he would never fit into, and in truth, far more than he'd had to work with in a long time. Glancing around, he wondered if the space was communal, but it seemed this tiny wedge of gravel and dirt was an actual backyard, framed by a high fence for privacy. He righted the tub, but didn't pull it under the pump until he had managed to coax clear water out of it. Anders then stripped to his pants, and washed his face, hair, and body, with a sad little cake of soap that had been laying in the gravel near the pump. He thought about doing more, but he wouldn't do to be caught out here in his skin, so he called it good, dressed again, and upended the tub. He let himself in through the back door, with a small smile and nod for Leandra, since she deemed to look at him, then went back into the room where Hawke was.

And there Hawke was: sprawled in the bunk, naked and asleep, snoring, with no care for modesty.

Anders froze, then quickly turned his back. He pressed his hands to the heat in his face. Slowly, he turned back around, and stole one long, admiring look at Hawke. His fine, thick, hard body, with it's luxurious thatches of dark hair, and... "Maker's balls," he uttered, looking away again. He felt like a pervert. _It wasn't right, what he was doing. Peeping. Thank you, Justice._ And Hawke would be disappointed, if he knew. Completely put off.

He shifted his gaze to the bunks, trying to decide which one was Hawke's. He supposed the made bed belonged to Mistress Hawke, and climbed into the other one, laying back for a minute, before rolling over onto his stomach. He buried his face in the pillow. It was **definitely** Hawke's.

The sun hadn't yet fully risen, and Anders was deeply asleep, curled into a tight ball around Hawke's pillow, when a foot connected with the bunk, shaking it. He jolted awake, gasping, shrinking inward for a moment. "D-don't hit me! I'm awake!"

Hawke rubbed the bridge of his nose, then scrubbed a hand through his hair as he squinted down at Anders. "Why would I- nevermind," his voice was scratchy, thick. "You can go back to sleep in a minute; I just want to know if you remember what I did with my pants?"

Anders jerked. "Hawke?" He lifted his head, slowly uncurling. "What? Your pants? Oh-" He jerked his eyes away from the man, coloring. "You tossed them, uh, in the corner." He pointed.

He glanced that way, then nodded. "Thanks," he grunted, going, and bending to retrieve them, then walking out the door.

Anders lay there in Hawke's bunk, drowsing. He was exhausted, but didn't want Hawke to have to wake him again. He ached with the frustration of the evening previous, his desire still tormenting him. And at some point, he slipped back into a deep sleep, his body demanding the rest it had been denied for too many weeks now. Too many late nights followed by early mornings. Too much mana exertion, too much alcohol. Too many emotions, exhausting, draining him. He slept hard, and deeply.

The smells of breakfast cooking filled the small house by the time Hawke returned to check on the still-sleeping Anders. He reached out, gave his bony shoulder a gentle shake. This time, Anders opened his eyes without a flinch, starting as they came into focus. He saw Hawke and smiled. "Good morning." He rubbed at an eye and shifted to sit up, cracking his head on the bunk above. "Maker-" he hissed, rubbing at his pain.

"Sorry about that. Breakfast, or do you want to sleep more?"

Anders ducked his head and peered up at Hawke. "Breakfast?" His stomach growled it's agreement, rather loudly, in fact.

Hawke's expression softened marginally at that and he nodded, moving back to give him room to get up. "Watch your head. And, uh, sorry for anything that happened yesterday."

Anders lifted a brow, then shook his head with a small smile. "Your conscious is clear, Hawke. The worst you did was insist I stay. How is your head, by the way? I can help if you need..."

He shook his head. "It's a fitting punishment," Hawke said.

He let it drop, mostly because he didn't want to think too much about whatever it was he had walked in on. "Carver and the others were seen to. No one was hurt too badly. Seems they did alright."

"You should have left Carver to his injuries. Would be nice if he learned his lesson for once. Did you sleep all right?"

"I..." He hesitated. "Not at first, but when I finally got to sleep, I was like the dead. Thanks, Hawke."

"For what?" He asked and headed for the door.

Anders smoothed at his robes and tugged his jacket straight - he'd slept in both - and trailed after the larger mage. "For looking out for me. For caring..."

"If I remember correctly, you certainly put up a fight for someone so grateful now," he said dryly. In the kitchen, food waited, but Leandra was already gone. Hawke moved for the coffee, pouring himself what was likely not his first cup.

"I can appreciate the intent, even if I did feel like an ass for imposing on your family," Anders replied wryly, pulling out a chair and dropping into the seat. "Smells great."

"You are an ass for arguing," Hawke said. "Help yourself."

He smirked, pushing up to do just that. "So you remember all of that, do you?"

Hawke grunted. "Does it occur to you, this is the second breakfast we've shared in as many days?"

"It does," Anders answered, glancing at Hawke as he spooned food onto his plate, curious where he was going with the comment. Hawke didn't go anywhere with it, drinking with a frown and seemingly waiting for Anders to finish before he got his own. Anders was careful not to take more than half of anything, finally settling back into his seat to begin eating. "So?" He asked after his first swallow.

"So what?" Hawke asked. He rose and pointedly scooped more food onto Anders's plate.

"Hawke," he brandished a fork at him, "have **you** eaten?"

He grunted. "I have plenty," he said, giving him a few more spoonfulls before turning attention to his own plate.

Anders dutifully cleaned his plate, taking care of not only his dishes, but the pots and pans, without a word gathering them into the wash basin and then carrying the oversized pitcher out the backdoor, to fill it. He came back, lugging the full pitcher, water dripping, and proceeded to wash the dishes. Hawke never said a word, seemingly content to focus on his breakfast, and whatever occupied his thoughts as Anders finished washing and drying the plates and pots, leaving a neat stack on the countertop, though he saved the water for Hawke's plate. Turning around, he folded his arms calmly and leaned on the counter, regarding the big man. "I've been thinking," he began.

"Sounds dangerous," Hawke murmured.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," he replied with a soft laugh. "No, listen, I was thinking about how close you are to funding the expedition, and also the things keeping you from reaching the goal..." He unfolded his arms and fished in a pocket for the little coin pouch Hawke had given him several days back. "You can hold my pay until we get back."

"No," he said without hesitation.

"I trust you, Hawke," Anders said.

"Good to know, but you're taking your pay now. Your volunteers at the clinic will need supplied for your absence, and you'll want a new staff before we venture forth. Probably new robes, too."

Mildly abashed, he glanced away. Hawke was right, of course. He almost always was. But Anders still felt a sting for the rebuffing of his gesture. "Right..."

If Hawke noticed his reaction, he didn't bother to offer comfort. "You should start preparing," he advised. "Unless someone finds my coin, it won't be long now."

Anders quirked a brow at the odd comment, but nodded. "Guess I'm going shopping today," he said, pushing off the counter.

"Another thing," Hawke said sternly. "What we talked about yesterday. I meant it. If I take both you and Fenris- there will be nowhere to run off to for a sulk. You either get along or learn to ignore each other. I'll be speaking with him as well."

He stiffened. "And I remember telling you I know how to keep my mouth shut. But I won't abide someone spewing blind hate at me, solely for who and what I am. You think I should grin and bear it when he says those things?"

"I do," Hawke said, looking at him pointedly.

His eyes widened, brows shooting up. "Hawke! I've done nothing to Fenris! Nothing to deserve his spite! How can you expect me to simply take that shit from him?!"

"How can you expect him to have any other opinion given his experience?" He asked flatly. "I don't care what he says of mages because I know I'm not the kind of mage he's talking about. I know the ones he speaks of deserve everything he says and worse."

"And when he speaks of **me**?" Anders demanded.

"You made a deal with a spirit," he said, his voice hard. "Anyone would be a fool not to be afraid of the damage you could do. But it will take actions, not petty words, to prove him wrong."

"Of course!" He threw his hands up. "Never mind he was a trusted friend. Never mind I rescued him from playing the demon and haunting a corpse!" He huffed. "Fine. Actions, not words." He was angry, by his tone that was clear, even despite his concession to the point. "Thanks for the meal, Hawke. I've got non-abomination things to do." He headed for the front door.

Hawke lifted his coffee and didn't stop him.


	14. Chapter 14

Beyond the soft glow of the clinic lantern, Anders held conference with a pair of women. An aged grandmother, wise in the ways of herbs care, and a pink cheeked girl, scarcely past sixteen, who was the old woman's apprentice. These two would see to any of the people in need in Anders's absence. They spoke at length, and Anders passed over a small purse of coin. The old woman tucked it away, while the girl eyed it surrepticiously, licking her lips.

His first indication that their meeting had been interrupted had been the sudden lack of light from the lantern after it had been extinguished. When Anders looked up, Fenris's lithe elven form was in the clinic door. The fugitive slave wore a heavy broadsword and a full pack, and stood with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face. He didn't announce himself and he didn't greet the mage. His first reaction to the sight of the elf was concern, for what could possibly bring Fenris to his door, if not a need for a healer. "Is Hawke alright?" He asked of the elf. The women peered curiously at the newcomer.

Fenris tilted his head, eyes slowly, almost reluctantly sliding to the mage. "Do you think I would leave his side if he wasn't?" he asked. "He sent me to find you. It's time."

His expression was a flash of relief, with annoyance hot on it's heels. He excused himself from the women, collecting a leather scrip and slinging it over a shoulder, then he gathered up his staff, and faced Fenris stonily. "Very well."

"You have everything?" Fenris asked. "I'm not turning back because you forgot something."

"I'm ready," he affirmed, shifting his eyes away. Despite the emotions involved in his last talk with Hawke, Anders was trying to take the sentiment to heart. He would not let the surly elf provoke him.

He grunted and gave a nod, turning away without waiting to see if Anders would follow him.

Once Fenris cleared the doorway, Anders did, indeed follow, measuring his pace to keep a safe distance between Fenris and he, while they were still technically walking together. "Goodbye!" The girl called. "Andraste guide!" Anders did not look back.

Fenris walked quietly, his steps near silent and his eyes constantly moving, constantly watching every shadow as only one who has spent years on the run, never resting in one place for too long would do. The energy in his small frame was devoted, utterly, to being prepared at a moment's notice for violence, even as they left Darktown for more safer, day-lit areas of the city.

"This is the Hightown passage," Anders spoke up, brows knit and eyes squinting at the harsh morning sunlight. He wasn't sure if Fenris was lost, perhaps turned around in the labyrinthine passages of the Undercity.

"Your point?"

He bit down on his immediate response, something smart mouthed for sure. "I didn't realize that was where we were going," he said, judiciously.

He grunted, then, after a moment, as if the words were being dragged from him said, "Varric's brother is waiting for us."

Anders nodded mutely, though from his position behind Fenris, the elf would not see. He began to wonder, then, why Hawke would send Fenris to fetch him. Why not come himself? Was it an echo to their last discussion? Or was it because Hawke was pissed off at him? Not that he had any reason to be. Not that such thoughts mattered to Anders... Dread and anxiety seeped into him.

As they neared the area, raised voices could be heard - one voice, more than others, "No!" Carver snarled. "No - I put in as much work as anyone else! I'm going, and you can't stop me!"

"Oh no," Anders sighed. "He didn't wait until now to tell him...did he?" Fenris only grunted.

"Mother is right," In contrast to Carver's raised tones, Hawke's were cold, hard, his jaw set in that stubborn, hard line that everyone who knew him came quickly to recognize. "It's too dangerous for us both to go."

They rounded the corner and the tableau became clear. The expedition crew, all of Hawke's friends, Hawke and Carver, Mistress Hawke wringing her hands to one side. Anders paused, taking it all in, and decided he didn't want to get much closer.

"If something happens to me," Hawke said.

Carver threw up his hands. "That's exactly why I need to be there!" he shouted, earning a groan from the worry stricken Leandra.

"I've already chosen my team," Hawke insisted. He glanced their way, and his eye fell on Anders. His lips pressed into a thin line, but he lifted a brow, the silent question should have been clear: you still in?

Anders felt a tiny thrill as Hawke looked at him, then ruthlessly shoved it aside and nodded to him grimly. Oh yes. He would go. If the Deep Roads buried him alive in darkspawn, he would go.

Hawke nodded back. "We're leaving," he told his brother. "Take care of mother and Gamlen."

Anders joined the others, then, silent and somber. He had given Hawke his maps, and the man had undoubtedly plotted his course. He had only to accompany them, and do his part. As the wagon team began to move toward the city gates, Anders stole quick glances at Hawke. It'd been several days, since their argument. Not long at all, yet the longest he'd gone without seeing the man in quite some time. He'd missed him. Missed talking to him, looking at him...

Hawke was angry, that much was clear, from the set of his jaw to the way he held his shoulders, to the white-knuckled grip he held on his pack as they began to walk. He looked only ahead, following the wagons. Fenris moved away from Anders, to his usual place, three steps behind Hawke - a slave's habits he had not quite broken, perhaps? He said something low, under his breath, and whatever it was earned a snort from Hawke, whose shoulders softened a little.

Seeing Hawke relax even a modicum eased the tension inside of Anders, as well, though he was not best pleased it had been Fenris that managed it. He sighed, and turned his attention to the gate just ahead, and beyond that, the mountains.

Varric slung Bianca from his shoulder and checked her settings as they stepped out of the city. "Why is it I find myself wishing we were going to face another horde of dragons?" he asked dryly, to no one in particular. "Andraste's tits, I hate being underground."

"The Bone Pits were underground," Anders pointed out, unhelpfully, "but I know what you mean. The Deep Roads are...something different."

"Where've you been, anyway, blondie?"

"Taking care of some things before we left. The clinic, some shopping. What do you think?" He spread his arms for Varric to get a look at his new robe, which while not terribly different from his old one, was clean and whole, and certainly new.

"You trying to look pretty for someone?" he chuckled. "Nice to see you in something that isn't tattered."

Anders blushed, quite entirely out of his control, and glanced to the other side of the wagon, where strode Hawke with Fenris in tow. He stopped himself immediately, knowing he would be giving himself away to the sharp dwarf - who in truth probably already had a pretty good idea. "No," he answered, a touch defensively, "just new gear for the dangerous trip. Thanks..."

Varric followed his gaze, but while he lifted his brows he didn't comment, issuing only a low whistle. "I brought a few good decks of playing cards and lots of extra socks. Socks seem like something important for this shit."

"Lots of walking, yes. Socks will save your feet from blisters. You won't do well if you can't walk." He stared at Sundermount, looming to the north.

"I was more concerned with the underground being damp. I hate damp. Makes my short hairs curl - not flattering at all."

"Actually, there isn't a lot of moisture down there, at least not where I came through? Too much lavaflow, I guess. Evaporates everything. It'll be hot, Varric."

"That's even worse!" the dwarf said, glancing down at himself.

Anders chuckled softly. "Yes, it will be miserable. But worth it, right?" He glanced toward Hawke again, just to check on him, make sure he was alright. Fenris was walking closer to Hawke now - perhaps at the mage's insistence, or perhaps he had moved closer without noticing. They were talking now, trading terrible jokes that made them both giggle like idiots, despite Hawke's mood. Anders felt an immediate pang of jealousy, outrage, and hurt. His expression darkened as he forced his eyes forward.

"Junior sure was a sight," Varric said conversationally. "I thought his face was going to turn purple."

"I'm surprised Hawke put off telling him until then. That's a bit dramatic, for him, isn't it?"

"Well, he planned to tell him sooner, but then it seemed like he changed his mind for a while? I could've sworn yesterday he fully intended to bring him along."

Anders shook his head. "Who knows what he's thinking," he said, probably a bit more darkly than he'd intended.

"I like to think he's thinking about that beard of his," Varric drawled. "Or cheeses. A great variety of cheeses."

Anders cocked his head and shot Varric a look. He knew he was being petulant, and that the dwarf was probably trying to lighten the mood. "I'm with you on the cheeses."

"Hawke strikes me as the kind of man who appreciates the really stinky ones," Varric continued.

Anders issued a sigh, leaden with his emotions. "Oh, definitely the stinkers," he said.

Though he shouldn't have been able to hear him, Hawke glanced at Anders just then. He frowned at him a moment, then said something to Fenris who scowled, looked his way, said something, then fell back, pulling himself into one of the moving wagons. Hawke looked at Anders again, and jerked his chin, as if inviting him over.

"Oh great, what did I do now?" He asked of the dwarf, though it was clearly rhetorical. He made his way around the back of the cart and over to Hawke's side. "So," he began, but didn't really know what else to say. Surely Hawke had something in mind.

Hawke didn't answer, walking, waiting for him to say whatever it was he was going to say though clearly Hawke had not made his own expectations known.

"We're finally on our way," he said after a painfully awkward silence. He tried not to look at Hawke as they walked. He really did intend to keep his eyes on the craggy skyline, but he found himself staring at the man's ruggedly handsome features.

"I wasn't sure you'd come," Hawke said at last, glancing at him finally, attempting to gauge his mood.

"I gave you my word that I would," he replied solemnly. "And besides, I wasn't going to let you go down there without some way to keep tabs on the darkspawn." This, he said with some measure of levity, adding, "indispensable, remember?" He offered a small smile.

Hawke sighed softly. "Yes, of course. I suppose I was being petty, expecting you to back out."

His brows lifted, and he looked a little crestfallen. "You... expected me to back out?"

"Well, I hadn't heard from you," Hawke pointed out. But he'd still sent Fenris to let him know they were leaving.

"I was getting ready," Anders said a bit defensively. "Making sure the clinic could remain open while I was away. And I had to get supplies." He glanced away.

"Right," Hawke said softly.

"Thank you," he said, peering at Hawke again. "For sending for me. I would have been... disappointed to have been left behind."

"I would have regretted to leave you," he stated.

Anders nodded, gratified by the sentiment. "I've been doing a lot of thinking," he murmured, "on what you said."

"Oh?"

"Actions, rather than words," he said. "It makes sense, and I intend to stick to it."

"I'm glad," Hawke said. "It's a relief. I almost brought a spray bottle."

Anders burst out in a laugh. "Oh, well, I'd better mind myself, in that case."

"It seemed better than threatening spankings."

The healer immediately envisioned himself bent across Hawke's lap, bare assed, a large, callused hand coming down on tender flesh. His face heated. "Probably," he agreed, glancing away.

Hawke seemed oblivious to the fact he'd said anything even remotely suggestive, and he wasn't even looking, so he missed the blush, too. "Well in any case, I'm glad you were able to come along. Have you been eating enough?"

He quirked a brow. "Ah, every day," he commented. How was he supposed to afford more than a meal a day after buying a new robe and staff and a bunch of potions, and travel-foodstuffs, plus supplies for the clinic while he was away, and paying the wise woman to watch over the place? He had given her the very last of his coin.

Hawke gave him a long look, then quietly swore and looked away.

Anders lifted a brow, eyeing Hawke sideways. "I'm fine, Hawke. And after this expedition, I'll eat three squares a day and Varric will make fat jokes about me and everything will be fine."

"I should have checked on you sooner," he snapped, irritated.

He blinked, brow furrowing, and leaned away from the larger mage slightly. "Maker's breath, Hawke. Every coin you spend on me was one less to get us here. I wasn't going to let you put it off over nothing."

"You don't 'let' me do anything," he grunted. "Another day or two wouldn't have done us any harm if it meant having you at your strongest."

He scoffed. "Maker, don't have a tantrum..." He dug a hand into the scrip hanging off his shoulder and rifled around until he drew out a piece of jerky. He bit into it and made a show of chewing. Hawke looked as though he had been about to retort, but the jerky seemed to mollify him. Anders let his steps slow until Hawke and the cart were ahead of him. He didn't cross back over to Varric, however. There was a tension between him and Hawke again, and he didn't like it, but what was he to do about it? He wanted space to puzzle it out, and so walked alone, pensive as he chewed the tough jerky.

Hawke let him go without further word, and after awhile, climbed up into the wagon with Fenris. A deck of cards was produced, and they played as the miles passed them by. And Anders picked up his pace, walking toward the front of the wagon where he wouldn't have to watch the two of them together. 


	15. Chapter 15

Bartrand seemed to be a dwarf who was fond of giving orders. Anders imagined it made him feel important, extra hairy, well hung, masculine...whatever was important to dwarves. Point being, the elder Tethras bossed his people about like he had something to prove. He'd begun bellowing orders the moment they reached the entrance that would lead them underground, and in his enthusiasm nearly lost two carts to sheer stupidity.

For his part, Anders kept well clear of the commotion, picking a grassy spot to sit and wait. His gaze kept shifting between Hawke and the worked stone entrance. The latter made his skin crawl, but watching Hawke with Fenris made his insides feel hollow.

The pair of them, physically some of the strongest in the group, were helping right the carts, redistribute weight to other wagons that weren't stuck, and calm the animals. All the while, Bartrand's voice continued to boom. "More men on the left! Watch that hole! There, that incline is- Maker's balls!!"

Varric took a seat nearby with a sigh, using the opportunity to furiously jot notes. Anders glanced at him for a moment, tilting his head for a closer look at the notes, though he couldn't read them from where he sat. "Keeping a record of this madness? Or making note of all the curses for later use?" He asked affably.

"If a day comes where I need to borrow curses words from Bartrand, then be a pal and end my misery quickly," the dwarf said without looking up.

At the entrance, they were struggling to bodily lift a stuck cart and, rather than use magic, Hawke had thrown himself in with proverbial elbow grease. This had somehow necessitated the removal of his shirt. _Andraste knows he can't keep that shit on._ Not that Anders particularly minded. He stared openly for a bit, enjoying the show. "You think I should...you know, help them out?"

"Elf's liable to get twitchy if you start throwing shit around with magic," Varric pointed out.

He scowled, and shook his head. "That just seems like such a waste of time and energy..."

"How much can you lift?"

Anders side-eyed the dwarf. "Without magic, you mean? Uh... Maybe 3, 4 stone I guess. Not worth getting in their way over."

"I mean, if you need it to feel manly, go right ahead. Me, I don't feel like working up a sweat this early in the expedition."

He laughed. "I'll pass." He found his mood lighter and leaned back, tipping his face up to the sun. It would be weeks before he felt it on his skin again.

"You ever notice-" Varric began, "I don't think magic is the first thing Hawke thinks of when it comes to solutions to things. He's got real talent, could have this mess fixed with a wave of his hand, but instead he's down there grunting and heaving with the rest of them."

"I suspect that has a lot to do with how he was raised. As an apostate, by an apostate father. Their life of freedom was made possible by closely guarding that secret. It has granted him discipline and a keen sense of caution."

"That's not bad, Blondie," Varric said. "I might use that."

He blinked, tearing his eyes from Hawke's broad, muscular back to look at Varric. "Use it?" He looked startled. _Andraste's ass, what had he been saying?_ Stupid to run off at the mouth around Hawke's friends.

Varric rolled his eyes up, and motioned with his pen to his notes. "Yeah, use it. Maybe throw in something about liking the feel of good hard work and honest sweat rolling between his shoulder blades..."

Anders smirked. "Penning a romance novel?"

"Those don't sell well. And it's not clear yet who wins the prince's favor."

His brows climbed, and he quickly looked away. "I wouldn't say that, exactly." He muttered.

"Oh no? You think you have an idea?"

Anders grimaced. He wasn't even sure they were talking about the same thing. "I don't know... Perhaps."

"Enlighten me then."

"You've seen how he is...was. And how much he changed around...that elf." Anders said quietly.

Varric's eyes trailed slowly back down to the group, where they had successfully righted the cart at last. The entire group was laughing, Hawke included, until a comment from said elf made him deflate. Whatever his answer was, it earned a rare grin from Fenris.

"All right," Varric said. "I have to admit, it's not a side I thought we'd ever see out of the big guy. Or the elf, for that matter. Have you heard him...giggle?" He shivered. "Terrifying."

Anders grimaced. "Somehow I was spared the horror," he murmured, turning his face up toward the sky again. "Anyway, I may be foolish, but I'm no masochist. I know when to cut my losses."

The dwarf observed him for a moment, putting down his pen, his own expression thoughtful. "Probably a smart decision," he acknowledged, then shook his head. "Last thing I expected when I picked up that big grumpy asshole is how much he'd...well, how much he'd make other people **feel**."

Anders leaned forward and frowned down into his lap. "I know what you mean..."

"It's a tough break, Blondie, I'm sorry. Sure as shit seems like the two of you would have more in common."

"It's probably for the best, considering my situation. It wouldn't do to entangle someone else unduly in my life. Justice is a challenge in the best of times..." He sighed, slumping a little. "I do consider myself lucky to be his friend. That will be enough." _It would have to be..._

The other two were returning now, and the exertion seemed to have improved Hawke's mood. "Enjoying your last few breaths of fresh air?" He asked, mopping at his chest with the shirt he'd removed.

Anders lifted his face and smiled at Hawke. "As a matter of fact, I am. And the sun. We won't have either for weeks, you realize."

"Then we'll have to rely on your sunny disposition, Hawke," Varric said.

"We're doomed," Fenris stated.

"Ye of little faith," Anders teased, climbing to his feet. "Are we going in?"

"I suppose we'd better, before Bartrand runs the whole crew off," Hawke said, slipping his shirt back on.

Anders adjusted the strap of his bag and slipped his staff from its harness. "Alright." He started off toward the entrance without waiting for the others. They followed; Varric got Fenris and Hawke into a good natured argument over who would win an arm wrestling duel, which they agreed to settle 'later'.

The healer wasn't the first one into the cave, but he was one of the first. A pair of dwarves and a human walked before him with torches, so he followed without bothering to make a light for himself. There were carvings in the rock wall, from time to time, of obvious dwarven make, but otherwise they were in a wide, undressed rock tunnel. It sloped downward until it reached a broad passage that was clearly dwarven architecture: massive, as tall as it was broad, with intricately tooled supports of worked stone. There was a dry heat which radiated oven-like air, a narrow channel ran along one side, a lava flow, which lit the entire place with a lurid red glow. The Deep Roads.

Varric gave a low whistle as they emerged into the Roads, followed closely by Hawke and a few steps behind, Fenris. Anders sighed, but did not comment on the oppressive heat. "The passage seems clear," he said. "Nothing nearby, with the taint anyway," he added, turning to regard Hawke. "Do you know our path?"

He nodded, pointing in the intended direction. "Let's get as much ground as we can."

The travel was fairly smooth, their greatest trouble being a column fallen across the road, forcing the group to lift the carts over. Or a minor cave-in that narrowed the road to a point that they had to clear some rubble in order to get the carts by.

Hawke was first in line to help every time something came up - with magic, or more frequently, his large strong hands. Anders speculated that the former farmboy enjoyed the work. At least, the physical labor and lack of need to worry about his family seemed to improve his mood with each passing day. Fenris was always at Hawke's side to help with the work, and even he seemed more relaxed, far out of eyes of searching slavers. The healer endeavored to stay pleasant at all times, in a detached sort of way. He spent more time quiet and thoughtful than chatting up the others.

There was a dwarf in charge of keeping track of their time, and another in charge of their mileage. When the road was clear, Varric would collect stories from the other dwarves, impressions, feelings about the trip. In all, the journey was uneventful.

The dreams came upon Anders during his fourth sleep period in the Deep Roads. He dreamed of darkspawn, though without their Archdemon, chaotic and aimless. They were out there, and drawing nearer. He thrashed about in his sleep, panting, mumbling.

A hand covered his shoulder, giving him a shake as he tossed and turned. He woke with a jerk, sitting bolt upright, eyes wide, panicked.

Hawke lifted his hands, giving him space while he got his bearing. "Hey," he said. "Just me."

Anders was still panting, though he quickly caught his breath, nodding to Hawke, he saw him, and was calming. Wetting his lips, he breathed, "Darkspawn. They're a ways off, but I feel them."

"Are you all right?" Hawke asked.

He lifted a hand to his head, squeezing his eyes shut as he rubbed at a temple. "I'll be fine. The dreams bring headaches sometimes." He spoke in whispers, not wanting to notify the entire camp of his ordeal.

He waited until he was sure the other mage was alright before asking, "How far off?"

Anders frowned in concentration for a moment, then opened his eyes and looked at Hawke. "Maybe a day's march, maybe less. I don't think they know we're here. They aren't... organized. This isn't going to be like the Blight. But they are out there, and we are headed their way."

Hawke nodded. "All right," he said. "Good work. Will you be able to get back to sleep?"

He glanced away. "I'll try. You too, Hawke."

Hawke settled back, but he watched him for a moment. "You've been quiet the last few days. If this is too much for you..."

"It would hardly matter, now, anyway, would it? We're days in. I'm not turning back." He looked at Hawke. "But, no, it isn't too much. It just brings back some unwelcome memories. Nothing I can't handle." He offered a wan smile. "How are you holding up?"

"Fine so far. With me out of the picture, mother and Carver are much safer in Kirkwall. We'll see how things go once we meet these darkspawn."

He nodded, and laid back again. "Right. Let's get some sleep." He closed his eyes. "Hey Hawke?"

"Hm?"

"Thanks."

He was quiet for a moment, and when he answered it was only a grunt.

As it turned out, Anders did sleep, and his dreams were free of further darkspawn interferance. When he awoke, it was to the rest of the camp stirring. He felt well enough, though he could still sense those 'spawn, on the very fringe of his senses.

With the advance warning, Hawke made sure he and the others dressed for a fight, potions and weapons in easy reach.

As the expedition packed up and continued its way down the road, uneventful hours passed, until at last the found a place were the entire road had collapsed into a giant lava pool. The road continued after the break, some hundred yards distant. But there was no way to bridge the span.

Hawke stopped, frowning, looking over the group as Bartrand began to throw an unholy fit.

Anders drew his sleeve across his brow, wiping sweat away, and turned away from the break, lifting his staff. A cool blue glow suffused the staff's head, and lit up the cavernous passage around him as he began pacing the wall back the way they'd come.

Hawke motioned to Fenris and Varric, and they moved to follow.

"I've seen side passages that circumvent blockages to the Roads before," Anders said by way of explanation, though no one had asked. They hadn't even left the view of the caravan when he found one such; what looked like a fissure in the wall, dark, but certainly large enough for a cart to get through.

"Let's make sure it's clear before we bring the others through," Hawke said.

"It isn't clear," Anders warned. "They're close, Hawke, they're **right** here."

Hawke's expression hardened and he gave a nod. Pulling his staff from his back, he stepped through into the passage. Fenris was the first to follow.

Anders let the light of his staff dim just a bit as they stepped past him. There was still enough to see by, but the pool of light was far smaller now, and hopefully would not attract undue attention before they realized what was upon them. Ahead, there was a bend in the passage, and it sloped downward, opening into a broad chamber, which held a dozen milling hurlocks.


	16. Chapter 16

The hurlocks, man shaped darkspawn with pale, corrupted skin, dead milky eyes, and a rictus grin peeled back from sharp fangs, one and all, turned and hissed at the intruding party.

The passage began to brighten with a deep orange glow, as the tip of Anders's staff formed a swirling ball of fire. His face was set in a scowl of concentration as the fireball grew. Bianca was already launching bolts into the group of darkspawn, knocking several back with the force of the blows.

Nearly half the hurlocks charged toward them, brandishing wickedly spiked weapons as twisted as they were.

Hawke flexed those large farmboy biceps of his and made a broad, sweeping gesture with his staff, and a sheet of ice swept across that front line of creatures, freezing them solid just seconds before Fenris reached them, heavy broadsword swinging. The force of his blow shattered one such creature.

The fireball arced across the cavern, exploding in a spectacular inferno which consumed several more of them. Anders fired a lance of ice at a distant hurlock with a bow, taking aim on them. "More on the way, Hawke!" He called over the din of the melee.

"Good!" Varric answered with his usual good natured gusto, "Bianca's getting bored!"

Hawke spun his staff, the bladed end catching a hurlock in the jaw on an upward swing before, in the same fluid motion, he thrust outward. Those now rushing into the chamber found themselves caught in a heavy lightning barrage. Fenris ran for them, dodging strikes, confident Hawke would not hit him.

Anders stood back on higher ground, where he had a clear view of the broad cavern, firing off a handful of bolts of spirit energy at the newly arriving darkspawn. Varric stood just below, picking off stragglers with impressive accuracy, while Bianca whirred and spun.

Fenris danced between the bolts, taking out creatures as the twitched and burned and screamed, ghosting past any attempt to reach him. A blast of fire from Hawke followed the lightning, and the cavern was full of ether and smoke and burning flesh.

Everything went still, but for the flailing or twitching dying darkspawn, and the accelerated breathing of the group. Varric let out a clearly put-on hacking cough. "You burned the barbecue, Hawke," he grated, then cleared his throat.

A grim faced Anders drew a moth-eaten scarf up from under his robe, fixing it in place over his nose and mouth. "That's it, in the immediate area," he said, stepping down toward Hawke and Fenris.

"Not so bad," the elf said with an amused, slight upturn of his lips.

Hawke gave a chuckle, slinging his staff back over his broad shoulders. "Sure, we could have handled a few more," he said. And then he smiled at Anders. "Knew you would be useful."

Behind the scarf, Anders lit up like a bonfire.

"Yeah, not bad, Blondie. Too bad that sixth sense bullshit doesn't work on Lowtown thugs, eh?" Bianca folded inward in Varric's hands, and he hung her over his shoulder with a casual ease.

"Should be able to get the carts through now," Hawke said. "I'll go let them know."

Anders nodded, and began to pick his way past the charred remains of the darkspawn, toward the far end of the cavernous chamber. It narrowed to another passage at least as large as the one which lead back to the Deep Roads. He paused there, studying the oddly squared edges of the walls, not moving out of sight of the others.

As he did that, Fenris picked his way among the bodies, searching for bits of money or usable items as Varric leaned his backside against a wall to jot some notes.

Anders glanced back toward the others, watching Fenris in silence for a long moment. He tugged his scarf back down, as the air was beginning the clear now. Such was the genius of ancient dwarven ingenuity, a set of stone ducts to channel and flow relatively fresh air from the surface down to these dark passages.

"What are you looking at?" The warrior demanded quietly. He hadn't looked up, but he must have sensed his gaze.

Anders dropped his gaze, brow furrowing for a moment, before he said, "Just wondered if you'd found anything worthwhile."

He was silent for a moment before, without warning, tossing something Anders's way. The mage, quite instinctively, lifted a spirit shield into place, but when the object the elf had thrown touched his barrier, he softened it, catching it before him instead. He reached out and plucked it from the air, turning it over to find...

It was a severed hand, blackened and deformed, a pair of rings glittering amid the corruption. "Your cut. I'm sure Hawke won't mind." The elf was clearly amused with himself.

He tried his best to mask his revulsion at the ghastly 'gift'. Surely he had seen- and touched -worse in his experiences. With a sigh, he pulled the rings from the withered fingers and dropped the hand, brushing his own hand on his robes, before remembering that they were new and clean. "Maker..." He growled under his breath, lifting his other hand for a closer look at the rings. And blinked, his brows lifting. These were actually quite useful pieces, inscribed with runes to aid casting. He slipped them onto a couple fingers and flexed the hand, sensing how they augmented his inborn skill. "You sure he won't mind?" He asked thoughtfully. "He would appreciate these as much as I, I think..."

"I've found better for him," he said, speaking over the trailing end of his sentence as he squatted to inspect another corpse. "Besides, those reminded me of you. Foul things always do."

Varric gave a low whistle, playing referee as he nonchalantly checked over Bianca's mechanisms. Fenris wiped the amusement from his face and returned to his task.

Anders bristled like an offended cat, and it was all he could do to keep his teeth firmly clenched. He turned back to the passage and started walking down it, leaving Fenris and Varric behind in the large chamber. _Foolhardy, dangerous, and Hawke will be angry with you_ , he thought to himself, or was that Justice? Either way, he stopped walking, standing alone in the dark passage. Was his pride really more important than helping the expedition run smoothly?

He turned back, stepping back into the large chamber wordlessly, and settling down against a wall to wait for Hawke's return. He closed his eyes and felt the darkspawn ahead. Oh yes, there were definitely more, but relatively distant. It was an uncomfortable dark stain crawling over the edges of his perception like spiders made of carrion.

By the time the carts arrived, Fenris had the bodies moved out of the way and thoroughly searched. Anders cracked an eye, searching for Hawke, finding him with the elf. He watched the two, standing with their heads together, discussing Maker only knew what. Several moments passed before Hawke broke away to seek him out.

"How far?" He asked by way of greeting.

"At least an hour away, maybe further?" He shrugged. "It doesn't seem like they know we're here, which is odd..."

"After we went to the trouble of such a flashy introduction, too," Hawke said dryly. "Here, trade with me," he held out his hand as if to drop something.

Anders frowned questioningly, lifting a hand to accept what the other mage was offering. "Normally, they would? Darkspawn operate on a sort of hivemind. But maybe the recent end of the Blight has them rattled and splintered."

"Could be," Hawke said, dropping a pair of rings into his palm.

Anders peered at them. They were considerably better than what Fenris had tossed his way. "Are you sure?" He asked, glancing up at Hawke and lifting his other hand, the one with the rings on fingers. "Yours are far superior. I don't think it's a very fair trade, for you."

"You're the healer, not me," he said, motioning for him to hand them over. "I'd rather you get the extra...juice."

He tilted his head slightly, one corner of his mouth lifting. "Right." He tugged the rings off his long fingers and passed them to Hawke, replacing them with the new rings. "Thanks, Hawke."

Hawke frowned, fiddling with them. They only fit on his pinky. He glanced up. "Sorry, what?"

He shook his head, smiling wryly. "Nevermind. Are we ready to move?"

"I believe so; Bartrand is frothing at the mouth to hit his mileage goal for the day," Hawke said, scratching idly at his beard as he looked Anders over. "How are you holding up?"

He pushed to his feet, brushing silt from his robes. "I'm just fine. This isn't nearly so bad as I remember," he answered lightly, smiling a bit.

Hawke pulled a face. "I would hate to see what you remember," he said, though he was clearly enjoying the excursion.

Anders cleared his throat, laughing softly. He didn't have to say that he agreed. He'd stated his envy for the other man's life before. "Maybe it's the company," he murmured softly. "Anyway, the next passage has the look of worked stone. We're probably close to coming back out on the Deep Roads again. As soon as you're ready, we should press on."

"Tell me about that spell you used," Hawke said as they began to set out. "Your fire is different than mine."

He chuckled. "Liked that, did you? Just a spin on the textbook fireball. Literally. I wind it up with some spirit energies, into a big nasty ball. The explosion on collision is pretty big, the more you feed it. Really, it's a balancing act between how big you can spin it before you're covered in darkspawn. And they hate fire. But then... Most things do, right?" Talking with another mage about spellcraft was one of the few things Anders missed from the Circle. Being around mages in general, actually. Chatting openly about magic with someone who understood. He spoke animatedly on the topic, clearly pleased that Hawke was interested.

"Spirit and I don't get along," Hawke said with a grimace. "It's not that I can't do it, more that it takes more than it should."

Anders lifted a brow at that. "Do you dream?" He asked. "Fade dreams, I mean? Spirit draws from the Fade, but if you aren't opening to it..." He trailed off. His ability with spirit had jumped at least tenfold, maybe more, when Justice joined with him. It was second nature to draw on it, use it often and easily.

His lips compressed for a moment. "Not if I can help it. Father taught Bethany and I ways to help prevent it. They aren't perfect and don't always work, but it's better than unnecessary risk of...well."

Anders took his eyes off Hawke, peering down the cut rock corridor. "It isn't as though you **need**  spirit. You're a total powerhouse without it."

He chuckled at that. "I don't know that I'd say that," he said. "I understand raw elements better, that's all. Nothing too complex. Bethany, she was an artist."

Anders looked at him again with compassion in his amber eyes. "I would have liked to have met her," he said gently.

"I've always been a- a hammer," he said, "while she was a fine brush. The things she could do- yes, you would have liked one another."

He smiled, deciding that the comment was a complimentary one, and tried to imagine Bethany Hawke. She was probably a lovely girl. "Sometimes," he said quietly, as they walked, "the job calls for a hammer. To do what needs doing."

Hawke flexed the hand that wore the rings, grunting softly. "That is almost exactly what father used to tell me," he said softly, wistful, for a wonder.

Anders smiled sadly, and looked away. Emotions swirled inside him, like a roiling sea: adoration, envy, sadness, frustration, desire...

"We...moved around a lot," Hawke said after a moment's silence. "I showed early, Bethany even earlier. There was always something coming up to make the neighbors look at us sideways." He spoke softly, voice just this edge of hard. It was the most detail he'd ever gone into with Anders. "Leaving behind friends, toys, pets- often without warning, knowing any moment might be the last time you see your own bed- siblings too young to understand, questioning, resenting...letting broken bones heal on their own so you don't rouse suspicions..."

Anders looked at him now, and his eyes were full of pain and sorrow that spoke to his intimate knowledge of at least one such move. "I'm sure it was difficult for you." He said softly.

Hawke seemed to catch himself, realizing he was going on too long and too deeply. Grimacing, he shook his head. "You adapt and move on. You learn- not to hold on too tightly."

"Yes," Anders replied soft and sad, "you do..."

He glanced at him, then away, frowning. "Sorry," he said after a stretch of silence. "That wasn't what I meant to talk about."

Anders peered at him, while Hawke was looking away. "It's alright. You might not have meant to, but maybe it was what you needed. Maker knows I can relate..."

"Perhaps you can," he allowed.

Anders was silent for a moment, as they walked side by side, then began in quiet tones. "I was twelve, when it happened. I didn't know what I was doing, didn't tell anyone... And then I burnt our barn to the ground. My father cursed me, said I was no son of his." He paused, swallowed. "And that was it. I was taken to Kinloch Hold in chains..."

"I was five," Hawke said. "I flooded the neighbor's chicken coop." He smiled, some mixture of amusement and grim memory. "Family left that night, before anyone got home next door to notice. It rained in that coop for hours."

Anders blinked at him. "Maker's breath, Hawke! Five?! That's practically unheard of." He studied the large man, fascinated.

"Bethany was four," he said.

He swallowed and nodded, brow pinching slightly. "I can't imagine instilling the kind of discipline and control needed to keep a practitioner safe at that age..." He said with a measure of awe. So much about Hawke, his manner, his approach to mages and magic, made sense now. Anders wasn't sure he envied the man any longer, but he was no less impressed with him. No less taken with him.

Hawke snorted softly. "Even father was lost, with me. Lots of trial and error. A few years where I think we hated each other," he chuckled. "By the time Bethany showed it was easier, and he had me to help."

Anders smiled slightly, Hawke's chuckling easing the pain of dredging old memories. "Your father must have been an impressive man."

"You would have really enjoyed him, I think. Or hated him." He glanced at him from the corner of his eye. "If he didn't kill you the moment he learned about Justice."

Anders stared straight ahead, where the corridor at last seemed to end in a T intersection. He felt a pang for the comment, and Justice stirred briefly, though not nearly enough to give Hawke any sort of sign. "If I had any idea then, if I knew what I know now..." He began, then stopped, lowering his head. "It's too late for that. There's nothing to do but my best. My intentions are meaningless in the face of the results."

Hawke nodded. "If it's worth anything," he said, "I'm glad I'm not my father."

Anders lifted his head, looking to Hawke. "Don't take this the wrong way, but, so am I."

He gave a half a laugh and was silent for awhile. "He comes across as hard. He was, sometimes. but he had a lot of love, too. When he laughed, the whole house seemed to shake."

Anders smiled at Hawke, thinking that perhaps the mage and his father were not so different after all. Such thoughts he kept to himself, however.

They had reached the intersection, one path ended in a warm orange glow, like that in the Deep Roads proper, the other led into darkness. "We'll be wanting to go this way," he said, pointing toward the warm light. Perhaps it was unnecessary to say, because the choice seemed obvious, even without the tainted darkspawn some goodly ways down the other path.

Hawke nodded and motioned for the others to follow, falling into silence again.

They were back onto the Deep Roads in short order, the wide, clear, and comparatively bright path setting everyone at ease once more. Anders fished a tiny, wrinkled apple from his bag and ate it quietly. 

"So it's predominantly spirit you use, then?" Hawke asked, after they'd been quiet quite some time. "Hard to notice in the heat of battle. That takes a good deal of control even if you're good at it, doesn't it?"

He considered his words for a moment before answering. "I find it very intuitive, these days. It comes so naturally, always right at hand, and I can use it in so many ways, to bolster other spells. Especially when healing."

"It's convenient," Hawke said. "I **can** heal," he admitted after a moment. "A little. But it's, you know, quick and dirty. You've got real talent."

Anders smiled a bit, inclining his head. "Thank you for saying so. Unfortunately, its the sort of talent that only really shines when tragedy strikes. But I'm happy to help."

"I think I would rather face tragedy with that kind of talent than without it," he said grimly.

"True enough," Anders conceded the point. "Consider yourself in luck, then. I intend to be at your disposal." He offered a little grin.

 _Oh if Hawke were drunk there would have been a joke in that._ Instead he merely nodded, seriously.

"So... where exactly are we going, down here? I assume Bartrand has some place in mind?"

"Apparently the paranoid bastard hasn't even told Varric," he grunted. "I'm sure he has something in mind."

Anders frowned. "Shouldn't someone else have some idea? What if something happens to Bartrand? Are we to wander around in here until we find something?" Anders shook his head, not liking that thought one bit.

"Don't you think Varric and I have argued the same thing?"

"I'm sure you have, come to think." He smiled. "Well, I guess it's all on him. At least we know the path we took in."

" 'All the more reason to protect my hairy ass' is what he said," Hawke added dryly.

Anders wrinkled his nose, snorting a laugh. "Maker..."

"Did it give you a visual?"

He sighed, long and drawn out. "Unfortunately..."

Hawke's laugh was immediate, involuntary, and bordering on evil.

Anders gasped in mock outrage, taking a swipe at Hawke's thick arm. "You bastard! You did that on purpose!"

"Would I do something like that? You must be mistaken," Hawke was still chuckling, earning some odd looks from a few of the dwarves who still considered him scary. "Maker, and if it's been a while since you've seen a bare ass, well..."

"Not **too** long, actually," Anders admitted, still not looking at Hawke. He could feel his face warming, and was glad, for a wonder, for the heat and light of the Deep Roads.

Hawke only shook his head. His eye strayed briefly to the carts, where Fenris and Varric's current card game had seemingly been forgotten in favor of a conversation. "Well, it's been longer for me," he said. "So I'm spreading the terrible image."

"Yes, well, thanks for that," he said with a touch of good natured sarcasm. He thought about adding more, _'don't blame me, I tried,'_  but decided it was better to leave that thought alone.

"Happy to be of service," he said dryly.

Bartrand pushed them far longer than usual, eager to make up the distance they lost with the detour. When the group made camp at last, everyone seemed content to fall right into their bedrolls. Anders was no different, falling asleep almost immediately. Until the dreams came.

Two were the exception to this rule. As everyone tucked into their bedrolls, Fenris and Hawke shared what had become a nightly ritual after everyone else had fallen asleep, talking - or sitting in silence - over terrible camp coffee spiked with bourbon. It was something that had fallen into place on the journey, and the quiet murmur of their voices had yet to get noticed.

Anders managed to rouse himself from his nightmare, blinking bleary eyes up at the cavernous ceiling of the Deep Roads. He lay there for an untold amount of time, listening to the low buzz of voices. At first, he was too thick with sleep to know what it was he heard, but the longer he lay there, the more his faculties sharpened, until he could pick out murmuring voices.

They were too low for anyone to make out actual words, but the tone was comfortable. The healer shifted, peering toward the pair. They sat, not touching and giving no indication either intended to, but at ease with one another. Anders didn't need to know the words, as he listened to the tones, his imagination filled in the blanks for him. He closed his eyes and focused on retreating from the low sounds. _Unimportant. A distraction only. Turn your eyes elsewhere. Much to do._

 

The murmur briefly became angry - a disagreement - then discussion. It settled back down again. Fenris laughed, softly, and handed Hawke his cup. The two retreated to separate bedrolls at opposite sides of the camp.

 


	17. Chapter 17

Bartrand was bellowing for everyone to rouse early, but Anders was already wide awake, sitting with his bedroll packed, drinking strong coffee. None of the expedition hirelings went near him, which suited him just fine. He kept his black humor at this early hour with his silence suddenly shattered well gaurded. As Varric and Fenris traded friendly barbs while helping to pack up, Hawke, looking like a big grizzled bear with his hair on end and even beard ruffled, grabbed coffee and sat down, hard, near Anders. The healer sipped from his battered tin cup, offering little more than a cursory nod to Hawke. His gaze was fized and distant, not once straying to the burly mage.

Hawke mumbled something incomprehensible to the blonde, and blearily dunked his beard in his coffee when he tried to drink. Anders blinked, seemed to shake himself, then peered at him. "Hawke?" The big mage glanced at him, blinking back as he wiped his beard on his sleeve. Anders frowned, then studied his cup of coffee, lifting it for a deep drink. "They've move farther away," he said, as though only having just realized. "Two days march, at least."

"G'morrin," Hawke managed at last, blinking again. He straightened a little, processing the words. "The darkspawn?"

Anders eyed him for a moment. "You should consider climbing in a cart and catching another hour or two of sleep," he advised.

"M'fine," Hawke said. He wasn't a morning person under normal circumstances, Anders knew, but this... "Why would the darkspawn be moving away?" The man asked him.

"They might not be aware of our presence," Anders reasoned, "or they have some other unfortunate thing they are tracking. Maybe they have somewhere else to be?" He tipped his cup up, finishing the strong camp brew. "Are you concerned?"

He shook his head. "They shouldn't be smart enough to flank us, double back around. So."

"Well..." Anders hesitated, seeing no real point to contradicting Hawke. "Even were they," he replied judiciously, "I told you, they're too scattered right now. Maybe they crossed paths with something else down here that they decided to avoid?" He mused aloud, then realized that could be worse. "Don't worry, I'll keep my eye on them."

"We'll handle it, whatever comes," Hawke said. His eyes strayed to Fenris and Varric. "How do they have so much energy?"

"Well, Varric sleeps," Anders pointed out, then immediately regretted doing so. He turned his empty cup over, tapping the rim on ancient stone to release the last few drops of coffee. The sound was a strangely loud ping.

"One of them has to be lying. They can't both be morning people."

Anders frowned thoughtfully, shrugging. "It's a mystery, Hawke," he said, climbing to his feet. Hawke growled something low then rose as well, downing the rest of his brew.

Bartrand was still bellowing, as though he had an endless supply of air and ire both, and a throat made of steel. The caravan was on the move at last, an exhausted, lumbering beast that filled the Deep Roads with noise and life, with its passage. Anders had his staff out and used it as a walking stick, casually taking support from the enchanted wood. He walked near the front of the line today, reaching out with his Warden senses and finding- nothing. Hawke hopped in a cart to join the card game, dismayed to find Fenris was getting even better. It helped him wake up more, but not before losing a good bit of coin - much to the elf's smug satisfaction.

After several hours of travel, Anders hung back, letting several carts pass him by, until the cart with Hawke and the others. He approached, walking beside the open back but not climbing up to join them. "Hawke..."

He glanced at him, awake by then, and nodded in greeting. "Don't tell me you're here to take my money too." His voice was stern, but Anders was pretty sure he was teasing.

Anders glanced at the others, his expression guarded. "I have a concern, actually..." He answered.

Hawke lowered his cards, glancing at his friends, then back at Anders. "What's wrong?"

He took a deep breath and then sighed. "I can no longer sense any darkspawn. At all."

"And that's bad?" Fenris asked, peering at him.

"They were there, and then they were gone." He explained.

Varric leaned back, rearranging his cards. "Maybe they had plans."

"You think it's something worse," Hawke said. Not a question.

"Honestly? I don't know. It wasn't even like they faded, passing out beyond my senses. It was like they were..." He paused, frowning, eyes shifting as he considered, "masked? Shrouded? Like something else maybe... interfered with the bond? But I don't know what, or if that's even possible. All I'm saying is, I'm concerned and I think we should be careful."

As if on cue, Bartrand began yelling at the top of his lungs and the entire caravan lurched to a halt. "This is it, boys! The thaig! Set up camp! We're here!!"

The four of them froze, and Fenris was in the process of leaping from the cart, sword half drawn, before they realized they'd reached their destination. Anders was bemused. "Just...keep in mind what I said. Maybe it's something in the thaig. Maybe it's just me. But better that we prepare for the worst."

"We'll keep an eye out," Hawke said, hopping down to help with the unloading.

The camp was set in the cavernous entrance to the thaig, which by all rights, looked little enough like any dwarven thaig any of them had seen before. Even Bartrand remarked on the oddity of it. "Where are the Paragons? And there are no runes... Let's just hope these ancient dwarves kept their valuables close, eh?" He laughed gruffly, and gazed in wonder at the stonework, shot through with veins of a distrubing red ore.

"Point me where to go," Hawke said. "I'm ready to get this done."

Everyone looked to Bartrand, who took a moment to look around. "We should venture in deeper. The good stuff ain't gonna be just layin' around out here!" He pointed toward a passage in the cut stone.

Varric chuckled and shook his head. "Come on, Hawke, we'll clear a path for him."

"Now that sounds like fun," Fenris said with a hint of a grin. "I will follow you, Hawke." Anders nodded his silent agreement, grim faced and pale.

The entrance passage opened into a sizable chamber, the original use for which was not readily apparent. Along the walls, large crystal formations glittered in shades of pale blue and bright red. There was a hum of energy in the air, though the source was not obvious. Beyond that, a hallway which forked at its end, left, a door, right disappeared around a corner.

"Maker, my skin is crawling," Anders whispered.

"Why anyone would want to live down here is beyond me," Varric said.

 "It's not just being underground," Fenris said. "This feels..."

An unearthly moan sounded and a handful of shades rose from the stones themselves, to the left and right. The creatures lurched forward toward the party. Anders immediately fired off a half dozen bolts of spirit energy into the closest shade on his side. "Not good!" He cried.

Hawke's powerful arms lifted, straining as if under a great weight as he summoned great arches of fire. Fenris darted forward, glowing brightly.

Varric and Bianca riddled the shades with volleys of bolts. "When is it ever, Blondie?" The dwarf asked conversationally.

Anders summoned a spinning fireball to the top of his staff, letting it grow a bit before launching it into a trio of the shades. "Just once," he panted with effort, "I wish things would be easy."

"Where's the fun in that?!"

Hawke's staff was a spinning blur. He was a hammer, a powerful force, summoning and casting with more innate instinct than decades of training could produce. His power acted as a compliment to Fenris's blade, weakening foes for that last deadly strike, never hitting the elf, and Fenris, despite his aversion to magic, seemed ready to trust that, fighting without concern for the vile hum and hiss of magic around him.

The group made quick work of the shades, until the door swung open and more of the demons swarmed into their left flank. Anders grit his teeth as long talons raked into his forearm, jerking bodily back and lifting his staff to fend off the shade. With a burst of effort, he sent an arcane blast wave out, knocking the vile creature back.

Varric flipped a switch and tipped Bianca up, and suddenly a hail of bolts rained down on the shades. Still they closed the gap again, to be met with another fireball and a defiant curse from the healer. Lightning followed fire, then ice. The elements followed Hawke's direction and his will, even here below the surface. Fenris danced, flickering lyrium ghost.

 And then, all was silent once more, but for the heaving breath of the heroes. And Bianca's gentle ratcheting as she folded in on herself.

There was a scuff of boots as Anders shifted toward a wall, sagging there as he inspected his wound. The sleeve of his jacket was rent with four gouges, stained bright red with the apostate's blood, which poured in a steady stream to the stone below.

"Shit, Blondie, you gonna take care of that or what?"

Hawke, sweat on his brow, turned, surprised to see Anders slump. He was at his side in just a few strides, offering support with one big arm, looking him over, perhaps trying to gauge his level of exhaustion.

"Just need to catch my breath," he assured, "it's not bad, I just..." He sighed, not wanting to waste one of his expensive potions so early. With Hawke there, he stood again, though leaning against the offered support. Lifting his right hand, he cupped it over the dripping left arm, and concentrated. The cool blue spirit energy did not form a gentle diffused sphere, but instead arced in a sharp shock. Anders grit his teeth, shuddering slightly. "I really liked this jacket," he complained weakly.

"You can afford to mend it when we get back - here, if it's really not bad, let me."

Anders gave Hawke a dubious look. "You want to heal my wound?" He asked, tone ironic. "It's done. Ugly, slapdash, but I won't be bleeding all over the damned place anymore." He shifted away from Hawke, standing straight.

"Look at this!" Varric called, peering through the doorway that had spilled demons out onto them. "I see some chests. Bet I could pick the locks."

Hawke observed Anders a moment longer, lips a thin and humorless line, before he turned to Varric. "Do it."

The dwarf went into the room and began to raid the chests, one by one. "Not bad," he called, "not great, but not worthless either."

Anders pulled another piece of fruit from his bag, cellar wrinkled, and slowly ate it. "Those were demons," he said casually.

"You don't say," Hawke said.

"Well. The abomination would know."

"Fenris..."

"...I'll go help the dwarf."

Anders was silent as Fenris passed him and disappeared from sight in the next chamber. After that, he looked to Hawke. "What I meant was, what are they doing here, Hawke? Demons don't just randomly exist outside the Fade..."

"I doubt someone is down here summoning them. Bad memories- of this place? Maybe? Or a thinness in the Veil? This isn't my area of expertise."

Anders nodded, glancing away. His attention turned inward for a moment, all the while eating, until he was absently sucking juice from a fingertip. He stopped, and wiped the hand on his robes. "This place has a strange feel to it. Let's be careful." He knew it was unnecessary to tell that to Hawke.

Hawke nodded, then fished a lyrium potion out of a pocket and tossed it to Anders.

He caught it, brows lifting as he peered at Hawke. "You sure...?"

"Would I have offered if I wasn't?"

Anders dipped his head in gratitude, making a mental note to return the favor later. He opened the stopper and lifted the vial to his lips, drinking the refined essence of natural magic. The effect was immediate, the lanky Mage straightening, brightening in eye and color too. He lowered the vial, lips parting in a little smile. "You're a better friend than I deserve."

"Now you're lying," Hawke said, lifting a hand to briefly pat his shoulder as he turned away. "Let's take a look at these chests." Anders's smile only widened with the comment, the brief contact. And he followed Hawke with a bounce in his step.

Varric had an ever growing pile of assorted weapons and jewelry which came out of the chests. "Anything that wasn't enchanted has long since fallen to dust. But some of this stuff will get us some decent coin, I think." He squatted before the last of the chests with a pair of lock picks, working as he talked. Hawke looked through the pile, squatting before it, and examined a charm before tossing it Fenris's way. The elf caught it out of the air and put it on without a glance.

Anders looked on in silence, his spirits high. Once all the chests had been plundered, Varric began to divide the take by size and weight, so that each fellow shouldered an equal portion of the burden. Anders didn't mind in the least. He felt like he could climb a mountain.

"If this is indication of the rest of what we'll find, we're in good shape," Hawke said as they left the room. It certainly wasn't priceless treasures they were carrying but it was a start.

Varric snorted, leading the way back out of the little chamber. "Hawke, if this is indication of the rest of what we'll find, Bartrand will skin our hides and sell the leather to make it up. This is pocket change compared to what he's expecting. There's gotta be a vault. And we'll find it."

"I have to admit, my skin would make a lovely wallet," Hawke said.

"Mine would be prettier," Fenris teased darkly.

Anders wrinkled his nose at the thought. "Let's avoid getting turned into leather if we can, thanks."

Varric chuckled, leading them down the corridor to where it turned a corner to an open chamber, absolutely crawling with demons. "Heads up," he warned, leveling Bianca. He unleashed a rain of bolts into the creatures with no mercy.

Battle ensued, Anders was a literal maelstrom of magic, screaming out taunts and curses as he slung spells to devastating effect. Again the dance - the devastating raw **power** of Hawke's magic, the steely single minded skill of Fenris.

The shades fell, and suddenly the group found themselves confronted with strange beings like animated shards of rock strung together into the vaguest of humanoid shapes. "What in Andraste's holiest of holes are those?!" Varric shouted as he launched a new volley of bolts at them to little effect, unfortunately.

Hawke paused in his casting for just a moment, popping a bright blue potion, before shaking his head and picking up again.

Eventually these too fell before the might of Hawke and company. Varric hopped down to the lower level to get a closer look at what was left of them. "Huh..."

"What is it?" Asked Hawke. Sweat dripped from his forehead and made his shirt cling to the thick, corded muscles of his arms and chest, but he slung his staff into his back again rather use it for support. Anders caught himself staring and focused on the rubble of the vanquished monsters.

"This reminds me of an old legend I heard once. Rock Wraiths. They aren't supposed actually exist. It's a...dwarf thing." Varric straightened and shrugged.

Hawke scratched at his beard. "Well if they're going to exist, they're in the right place for it," he said. "Let's move on. I don't want these beasties surprising the caravans."

The next room was large and square, with a raised dais ahead, and yards of open space to cross to it. "Everyone watch your step," Hawke warned. As they warily made their way across the room, there was a terrible screeching roar, and a dragon swooped down from the ceiling. While not fully grown, it was easily a match for the one they had faced at the Bone Pits.

"Right. Because darkspawn and demons weren't enough," Anders complained.

The dragon sucked in a deep breath, then spit a torrent of fire at the interlopers.

Hawke pulled his staff from his back with a flourish and a grin. "Wouldn't want to get bored would we?"

The dragon, a fully grown female, unsurprisingly, put up one hell of a fight, but eventually fell, as all creatures faced by Hawke and company did. The injuries incurred were healed swiftly and the group wasted little time moving forward onto the dais. Here stood an ancient altar of stone, and on its surface lay an idol.

"Is that..?" Varric seemed at an uncharacteristic loss for words.

"It's pure lyrium," Anders said with quiet certainty. It had to be, if Justice's reaction to it was any indication.

Something about it made Hawke uneasy. He approached, slowly, lest one of his companions do it first, even as Fenris cocked his head to the side, then shook it as if to relieve an odd buzzing. His apprehension mounted as he reached out and - Nothing. Hawke picked up the idol and nothing happened. He turned it in his hands, examining it as he returned to the others. Behind them, down at the entrance to the chamber, Bartrand stepped in. He surveyed the damage to the dragon in silence, for once.

"Hey Bartrand!" Varric called down to him. "We just found and idol, we think it's pure lyrium!"

The elder brother loosed a low whistle, gazing up at the group. "Good find."

Hawke handed the idol to Varric with a shrug, who in turn examined it, shrugged, and tossed it his brother's way. Hawke's attention was already drifting back to Fenris, as it so often seemed to do, pulled as if by magnetism, Anders noted unhappily. Bartrand caught the idol, and seemed wrapped up in admiring it.

Varric grinned up at Hawke, "That ought to get him off our backs for a minute," he said under his breath.

Suddenly there was a soft scrape of stone on stone as the door at the entrance to the chamber was drawn closed. Hawke had opened his mouth to ask the still-perplexed Fenris something when he heard the scrape. He turned. "The door!"

Everyone turned, and Varric darted down the dais though the door closed long before he reached it. He tried it, then pushed on it, then banged on it. "Bartrand! The door closed behind you! We're locked in!"

"You always did notice everything, Varric," came Bartrand's muted voice from the other side.

"Are you joking?! You're going to screw over your own brother for some lousy idol?!!" Varric punched at the solid door ineffectually.

"Not just the idol! The location of this thaig alone is worth a fortune, and I'm not splitting it three ways! Sorry brother .."

And then there was only silence from the other side of the door.

~~~~~~~~~~

Upon the group's return from the expedition, Anders dismissed the women seeing to the clinic in his stead, doused the lanterns, and fell into his little cot and slept. Dreams blessedly free of Darkspawn, for a full day, a night, and half of the following day, only rising for a drink of water, or to answer nature's call. When he roused himself at last, he realized that no one had come to call on him. He wondered if he had served his purpose with Hawke's little group and was no longer necessary. A cruel and unfounded thought, but one that found fertile soil within the mage. After all, Hawke was more and more clearly interested in that elf. _Why would he want Anders around?_ He anguished over venturing out to find Hawke, or simply waiting to see what would happen. But at last he convinced himself it would be better to know for certain. He washed up and dressed in clean clothes, then pulled on his robes and took his staff.

It had been an uneventful walk through Darktown and Lowtown. Things seemed quieter during the hottest part of the afternoon. Even the Lowtown market was quiet, the merchants and shoppers, alike, lethargic from the heat. His feet found the familiar path to Gamlen's house, and he ascended the stair - to hesitate at the door. But Hawke might not even be here. He knocked. At first no one answered - and when the door opened it was clear answering had not been the intent. Leandra, dressed to the nines and in a hurry was on her way out, and almost ran the Mage over.

"Oh!" She said, startled.

He stepped quickly out of her path. "Your pardon, Mistress Hawke," he said with a duck of his head. "You look lovely. Ah, is...?" His eyes flicked past her to the open door. "Is Hawke home?"

"This old thing," she said, though the frock was clearly new. "Hawke's inside, yes, but you might not want to see him right now; I'm afraid he's in a black mood."

"Oh, well..." He licked his lips. "Maybe I could help... I could try? But I won't make a nuisance of myself."

"Oh, I'm sure you won't, dear," she said, patting his cheek as she passed. "He's out back. Duck if he throws anything!"

Anders blinked slowly, concern rising as he turned toward the open door. He let himself inside, pulling the door closed behind him and squinted in the dark, candle lit interior, such a change from the oppressive sun outside. He began to cross the room toward the back door, taking no note of anyone else who might or might not have been in the room. The house was empty, the doors ajar, and the smell of cleaning products was prevalent. Outside the sound of hammering started up. Anders found and opened the backdoor, squinting again as his eyes, now nearly acclimated to the dark interior, were assaulted by the sun again. He let himself outside and stood there with a hand shielding his eyes.

Hawke was of course there, shirtless and sweaty, nailing fresh siding to a corner of the house where the old had begun to rot away. The sight was a welcome one, and Anders leaned against the doorframe, watching him for just a moment before saying, "hello."

The hammering stopped and Hawke glanced his way, lifting a forearm to wipe sweat from his brow. He observed Anders for a long moment before speaking. "You might not want to be here," he called, voice hard.

Whatever pleasant feelings the sight of Hawke evoked, they faded, and his mouth turned down. "What makes you say that?"

He glanced at his work, quiet for a long moment before tossing his hammer down and approaching Anders. "Hand me that," he said, gesturing to a glass of water sitting near the door.

Anders bent to retrieve the water and offered it to Hawke. He studied the man's face for some hint of the problem.

Hawke drank deeply, and had the glass half empty before he stopped. After a moment he poured what was left over his head and shook it like a dog. "Carver joined the templars."

Anders felt an immediate shock, with disbelief, outrage, and fear on its heels. Then he realized Hawke would be feeling all of that, far more keenly, along with a sharp betrayal. "Are you alright?" He asked before he could stop himself. Obviously, Hawke was not. He licked his lips. "Safe, I mean?"

"He said he wouldn't turn me in," Hawke said. "But - who knows?"

"How could he do this? ...Why?" He wondered aloud. Then frowned and shook his head. He doubted Hawke wanted to get into it, if he even understood it himself. "Hawke, I'm so sorry. If there is anything I can do, please let me know."

He stared at him a moment, then shook his head. "Kidnapping and beating him likely wouldn't solve anything."

His brows lifted. "I meant..." Amders hesitated, awkwardly. "I meant to help you, your well being. State of mind... I'm sure this isn't easy for you."

Hawke let out his breath, slowly. "It's not," he said, and seemed surprised himself at the admission.

Anders reached out a tentative hand, laying it on Hawke's bare, damp shoulder. He stared into the burly mage's face, into his eyes. "I'm here for you, Hawke," he said softly, investing those words with weight.

After a moment those eyes slid away. "I hate that I'm not sure he'll keep his word," Hawke said at last. "He did this to be petty. Just because I left him here."

"It's a legitimate concern," he answered quietly, still watching him. "An unfortunate one...but if Carver is only being petty now, will he not be sensible later?"

"Carver? Sensible?"

He uttered a soft laugh, without meaning to, and quickly smothered it. "Loyal, then?"

Hawke was quiet for a moment before his eyes slid back to Anders. "Maybe," he allowed. "Carver is...we've never been as close as we should have been. Neither of us would allow it. Stubborn."

Anders offered him a small, crooked smile. "No..." He said as though the very thought were inconceivable, or he was being sarcastic. But not a mean sarcastic, a tease. "Carver always struck me as...I don't know, maybe jealous of you? Competitive even? Do you think maybe this is...just a foolish whim? A risky, yet definitive step out of your shadow?"

"It is exactly what this is. You can't get further away from apostate big brother than Templar. Petty shit. Not everything I do is **nice** but that doesn't mean it's without purpose."

"I know that. Deep down, I'm sure your brother does, too. Don't lose faith in him." He gave Hawke's shoulder a squeeze, then dropped his hand back to his side. He felt bereft at the sudden loss of contact, but he did not want to come on too strong, either. Hawke was the one who needed comfort and reassurance here, not him.

"He's an ass," he grunted, turning away, returning to his work.

Anders picked up the empty glass and stepped to the pump, working the lever a few times until the water ran clear. Then he filled the glass, and set it carefully on the back stoop. "Want a hand?"

"Company is enough," he said. "I need to work out...feelings." He said the word with an accusing scowl.

Anders stepped closer, leaning a shoulder against the side of the house. "Alright," he said with a nod.

"Mother's going down to put our case in to get the house in Hightown back. Somehow that means I should make repairs Gamlen's been putting off since before we ever got here."

Anders watched him work. "Keeping busy can't hurt," he offered.

He grunted his agreement. "Better than some other things," he said. "But I hate feeling like I'm lying low because of Carver."

"So don't? You can prepare a contingency in case things go badly, while taking him at his word." Anders pointed out. "I have some contacts in the Circle who hear things. I can keep an ear out for you. And you know _I won't let them take you..._ " This last was spoken low, dangerous.

Hawke glanced up at that, and whatever he saw he stared for a long moment. "I promised everyone two weeks off," he said at last. "After that..."

"After that, you do what you need to. But your friends will have your back, Hawke. Just like you have ours." His fierce expression softened somewhat.

"Right," he said, exhaling slowly. Hawke watched him a moment longer before turning back to his work. He raised his hammer - then lowered it again without striking. "I'm not used to that." He said. He spoke as if addressing the tool, not Anders.

Anders frowned slightly, tilting his head. "What's that?"

"Having people."

"That's a rough road to walk," he observed.

Hawke grunted softly. "I didn't realize it was, before."

"It's worse when you're used to having people, then are forced to deal with...not." He mumbled. Then thought better of going down that path. "The important thing is that you do, right now. We're... a team, Hawke. We can count on each other, right?"

"Yes," he said after a moment. "I suppose you're right." He peered at him, surprised.

Anders grinned at him. "Maker, it's about time someone realized that," he quipped, then studied Hawke. "You seem surprised. Did you think I was an idiot all the time?"

"Well, you do manage to tie up your own breeches in the mornings, so clearly it couldn't be **all** the time," he smirked.

Anders laughed softly. "Right. Good thing, too."

"Good thing that you tie up your own breeches? Yes I suppose so."

Anders cleared his throat and glanced away. "So, Varric must have really come through for you, if you're talking about moving to Hightown."

"We're still waiting to hear back on a few things, but it's looking good. Good enough for mother to push her petition through."

Anders nodded slowly, glancing back to Hawke. "Will that make you like a noble or something?"

"Well," he considered. "Technically we've always been nobility. Just...poor."

"I can't imagine it. Can you?"

He shrugged. "I don't imagine much will change. It's important to mother though. She gave up a lot, running off with an apostate like she did."

"Sacrifices like those are worth it, Hawke. In the name of love."

"Wouldn't know. I've never been in love," he chuckled, fitting the next bit of siding. "Experimental quickies with a stranger at the fair are hardly the things they write songs about. And having your father catch you cock-deep in the summer hireling behind the barn hardly encourages sentimentality."

Anders was silent for a moment while his imagination ran wild with Hawke's casual anecdotes. "I suppose not," he conceded, glancing away and scratching idly at one cheek. "But I'm sure you'll know what it's like, someday."

"Maybe," he said with a shrug, as if the thought hadn't occurred to him. "With mother reinstated in the Amell mansion and Carver...off being a dickhole..." He shrugged again. "Who knows? Maybe the right time will present itself."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't played through the Deep Roads portion of the game in a bit, so I've probably got a few details wrong. Sorry about that. I'm more interested in writing the stuff that isn't in game, anyway... Also, taking some artistic liberties with the Warden senses. I hope the discrepancy doesn't trouble anyone greatly.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another departure from Anders PoV for the sake of humor and cuteness.

There was a soft rapping upon the door of the Hightown mansion, where Fenris had taken up residence. _Knock knock knock knock_ , and then silence. _Knock knock knock knock_ , and another pause. It continued like this for some time, four little knocks and a pause, again and again. Quite possibly for an hour straight. It might have been rather early in the morning. The sun was up, yes, but it was probably an inappropriate hour to be calling on someone who wasn't expecting a visitor. Of course, those little rapping knuckles did not seem to notice.

It was close to an hour before the door swung open, the figure that filled the doorway was prickly, menacing, lyrium flickering and broadsword in hand. His white hair was disheveled from sleep, creases in his face from the pillow, and his armor wasn't fully clasped. He looked very reminiscent of a wet cat.

"Aneth ara, lethallin! Ir andaran atish'an! In enansal!" Merrill beamed a bright smile at the elf, and gestured behind her to a small child's wagon, leaden with bright, flowering potted plants.

He scowled and began to slam the door in her face.

"Mana! Ir abelas! Please, friend!" She lifted her hands in supplication.

"We are **not** friends, witch," he spat, and looked as if he regretted not immediately running her through. "What do you want?"

She blinked large, owlish eyes at his venom. "You are an elf," she said slowly. "You are friends with Hawke. And so am I. We spend time with the same people."

"Oh, well in that case I should bake you a cake. Do, come in."

"Ma serannas! I love cake!" She stepped forward with a smile, tugging the wagon along behind her.

"No. I-" he paused, scowl growing, forced to step away from the door.

"I've never been in here before," she said as she stepped past him, colorful wagonload in tow, head swiveling this way and that as she examined the interior with interest. "I got the address from Isabela. She said... Ne nuvenin sulahn'nehn. Not in so many words of course." She laughed softly, turning to him. "Do you like them?"

"You've never been here because you weren't invited," Fenris pointed out, reaching to finish strapping on his armor. "What are those for? Where's Hawke?"

"Na enansal. A... Gift. For you. Because it is my first visit. And because Isabela said you needed happiness. No, she said..." She frowned in concentration. "You were **pissy**? But that means you need happiness, of course. These flowers are beautiful and I thought you would like them."

He glanced around as if to ask where she expected pretty flowers to fit in the dank manse, but didn't voice it. He seemed exasperated, more than anything else. "I am **not** pissy."

She nodded earnestly. "I expected you have bathed since. But still, I wanted to cheer you up."

"Bathe-? What are you yammering about, witch?"

Her eyes widened. "You haven't?!" She lifted her nose and sniffed in his direction. "But you must have. You certainly don't smell pissy to me. There is this drunk old shem, who sits in an alley near the alienage, and he is definitely pissy. I tried to give him a flower but he yelled.."

"I-I'm not- that's not what she- **where's Hawke?** " He demanded, almost desperately.

Her expression dimmed, ears wilting. "At Gamlen's. He was very upset, and even broke the pot of flowers I tried to give him."

Fenris frowned at her a moment then turned back for the door, pulling it open.

She released the wagon and stepped around it toward him. "Where are we going?"

" **I'm** going to Hawke," he said, stepping out into the sunlight.

"He's very angry," she told him, walking at his side, despite his insistence that he was going alone. "Almost frightening. I know Hawke would never hurt me... But, you know how he gets. This is worse."

"What has hurt him?" He demanded.

"Do you think he's hurt?" She asked, tilting her head. "He didn't have much to say to me, except that he was busy and I should go."

"You were there, and you **failed** to see if he was hurt?" Fenris's black clad legs ate up the ground in long, hurried strides. His only response when looked at strangely by the various denizens of Hightown was a soundless snarl. "Was there anyone with him? Threatening him, perhaps?"

"Well his mother was there, painting her face up. She warned me he was in a mood. But Hawke was alone. And he wasn't bleeding or anything. I'm not stupid, you know."

He glanced at her, frowning. "Do I?" He asked, then shook his head. "An assailant could have been hiding, awaiting a moment of inattention."

Merrill had to scurry to keep up with him, but she did it with little in the way of exertion. "Why would anyone hurt Hawke? I told you there was no one there but his mother."

"You can ask that? How many fights have you helped him in with your foul blood magic? There is never a shortage of fools who wish to hurt Hawke."

Her brow knit, but she let his insult slide for the sake of the discourse. "Hawke hunts the bad people. Bad people don't hunt Hawke. That would be foolish."

"It would be," he said. "That doesn't mean they wouldn't try. Hunting me is equally foolish, and yet they've yet to give up."

She regarded him for a long, silent moment as they hurried through the streets. "It seems to me, angry Hawke would make short work of anyone who dared break the peace of his dwelling. Do you doubt his skills, so, Fenris?"

"Of course I don't," he said, giving her a glare as he continued to hurry. "Hawke is the only worthy Mage I've yet to meet."

"Ne enfanim. You fear for him, still. We hurry now, ven vhenas Hawke. It doesn't make sense..."

"What are you babbling about?"

She frowned at him with mild disapproval. "Fenedhis lasa," Merrill muttered, shaking her head. "You say you do not doubt Hawke's prowess, that he is the only worthy Mage you know. Yet here we are, rushing to his dwelling because...?"

"Are you implying I wanted **a reason** to see him?" He demanded dangerously.

She tilted her head, blinking at him. "No? Should I be? **Is**  there a reason?"

"And stop with the Dalish," he snapped, avoiding answering. Then, unironically, "Do I look like I understand that gibberish?"

She stopped for a moment, almost a stumble. Then hurried onward to keep up with him, lest she be left behind. "You don't speak Elvish...?"

"Why would I?" He asked darkly.

"Well..." She went a bit pink. "You're an elf!"

He sighed. "Yes. I'm an elf. So what?"

"Well, I..." She's getting redder now. "I thought..."

"That slaves are permitted to gather cozy around the fire and trade tales of Dalish glory?" He demanded. After a moment he relented. "I have no memory before these marks were put on me. If I had any knowledge of it, it is lost."

"Ir abelas... I am...sorry for the loss," Merrill bowed her head, but kept pace with him.

He only grunted, leading the way into Lowtown.

"Oh! I think I've been down this street before!" Merrill chirped, peering about. "It's going to be hot today, isn't it? It's so early and already so warm... Were you serious about that cake? Oh! That reminds me of a joke Isabela told to me. Only I'm not quite sure I understood. Perhaps you can explain it? You see, these two sailors..."

"Do you ever stop talking?"

"Was I babbling again? Ir abelas. It's just that you are so quiet. It makes me kind of nervous. And I start to babble when I'm nervous, and well..."

"You **should** be nervous, witch," he murmured. He turned, walking up the steps to Gamlen's house. He tried the door without knocking. It wasn't locked.

"O-oh! Are we just going right in?" She followed on his heels.

He was not stopped or challenged; there was no one in the entry room. Fenris moved, drawing his sword. He pushed open the door to the room Hawke and his brother had shared - no one was there either. Hawke's belongings were in disarray. Fenris grunted and moved to the next room.

"Oh!" Merrill exclaimed when he bared steel. "You really **are** afraid for him, aren't you? I think he's out back."

He shoved open the next door.

.

..

...

....Gamlen was on his hands and knees in his smallclothes, a woman with violently red hair standing over him with a long feather, running it over his backside.

Merrill went up on her toes to peer past the suddenly and inexplicably frozen Fenris. "Oh...ara seranna-ma," she bit her lip, and reached for Fenris's arm, drawing him back out of the room.

He backed up and quietly closed the door. "Out back, you say?"

"Yes," she breathed, relieved he shut the door on whatever was going on in the other room. 

Fenris scowled at the door for a moment before turning on his heel and heading for the door that would lead outside. Merrill followed him closely, not wanting to be caught alone in the house if Gamlen decided to scold them for the intrusion. 

Hawke was indeed outside, squatting before a rotted corner of the house with boards and hammer and nail, though he wasn't currently working, his attention turned on Anders. Despite the presence of the abomination, Fenris's shoulders visibly relaxed at the sight of the Mage.

"Maybe he **was** hurt! Look, there's the healer!" Merrill pointed out helpfully.

Anders stopped speaking and looked over a shoulder at the pair of elves, his smile withering.

Hawke's, on the other hand, grew. "Fenris," he said, pleased. Then, "Merrill. What are you two doing here?"

"The - Merrill was concerned you might be in some sort of trouble," Fenris said, avoiding meeting his eyes.

"Fenedhis lasa, harel era!" She scolded, giving Fenris a pointed stare.

Anders frowned, nonplussed. "What **sort** of trouble?"

Fenris ignored the outpouring of jibberish. "I...would offer my assistance if it were so."

"Nothing more dangerous than these boards," Hawke said. "You could lend a hand with that if you like." Anders remained silent, his lips drawing into a thin line of displeasure.

"I am glad to see your mood has improved, Hawke. Abelas our intrusion..." Merrill glanced between the three males.

"Mother found a pot under the house," Hawke said, pointing to a pot. "She said to thank you for the gift."

Merrill looked to the potted plant and smiled. "Oh, good. You're welcome, Hawke. I thought you needed some cheering."

"Your uncle is getting his ass tickled by a whore," Fenris offered.

Hawke blinked then shook his head. "Void take the man. If I don't get out of here soon there won't be any proceeds from the expedition left."

"He's not spending your coin..?" Anders turned his attention to Hawke.

"We had...words. I gave him a small amount to repay him for taking us in." Hawke didn't sound proud to admit it.

"And the first thing he does is get a tickle from a whore..." Anders grimaced.

"Her hair was very...red. It was frightening, actually." Merrill supplied.

"I don't want to know," Hawke groaned.

Anders grinned at him. "How about a change in subject?"

"Anything. Please."

"I heard an interesting rumor regarding the Qunari," Anders began.

"Oooh!" Merrill stepped closer. "Gossip!"

"I doubt it's that kind of gossip..." Fenris murmured.

"Anyway," Anders frowned mildly, annoyed, "the word is that they aren't actually stuck here at all. They meant to come, and they are planning...something."

Merril blinked. "Like a party?"

"Yes," Fenris stated dryly.

"I hope I'm invited," she put in with a little smile.

Anders sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Do I even want to know what a Qunari party consists of?"

"No," Fenris said. "You don't." Sheathing his blade, he seemed to be considering leaving.

"Fingerpaints," Merrill said dreamily.

Anders regarded her with an arched brow. Hawke and Fenris both turned stares on her.

She seemed to come to herself, and peered around at the men. "What? You **have** seen how they paint themselves up, right? All big, broad chested, painted in complex patterns and..." She sighed.

"That paint is poison," Fenris said.

She had that you-kicked-my-puppy face. "What? Why?!"

Anders peered quizzically at Fenris. _What did that elf know of the Qunari?_

"For a non-Qunari to so much as touch it, it would likely be fatal." He looked at them as if surprised they didn't know something so obvious.

She looked crestfallen. "But... Poison? Really? Fenedhis..." She was actually pouting.

Anders eyed Fenris skeptically. "Not poisonous to Qunari, I take it."

"My. What a frightening intellect you have." The elf glanced at Hawke. "If you don't have need of me, I'll be going."

"I'd prefer if you stuck around," Hawke said, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

Anders bristled, then seemed to relax as Fenris made to excuse himself. But then Hawke bid him to stay. Anders flashed one quick, helpless look at the other Mage, defeated. "Well," he said, climbing to his feet, "I suppose I'll go check on what we discussed earlier."

"I need you, too," Hawke said.

He froze. "Then, I stay," he answered simply, sinking back to his previous seat beside the stack of planks.

"Can I stay, too?" Merrill asked, sounding far more forlorn now that her fingerpainting fantasy had been shattered.

"Yes," Hawke said. "I need all of you. I need help on these repairs, and mother wanted to begin packing as well."

"So, it's a surety about the move, then?" Anders leaned toward Hawke, curious.

"You're leaving?! Oh no!" Merrill cried.

"No, but mother is convinced she'll be successful today."

Fenris was frowning, looking troubled, until Hawke explained, to Merrill, "We're hoping to claim mother's estate in Hightown."

"Oh. Well that will be convenient, won't it? You'll be in Fenris's neighborhood." Merrill smiled pleasantly.

"So I will," he said, not glancing at the elf. Fenris wasn't quite looking at him, either. "We'll have to have a big housewarming party. And by have to, I mean mother has been talking about it since I got back."

Merrill perked. "I like parties! We should do fingerpaints! -Not the poison kind. But wouldn't it be fun? Everyone painted up like pretty Qunari? We almost wouldn't need clothes if we used enough paint..." Anders slowly leaned back against the side of the house, quiet and pensive.

"I...don't think that would work," Hawke said slowly. Fenris looked more and more as if he regretted coming.

"Because you're too hairy? Don't worry, we can just use more paint." Merrill said with a perfectly straight face. Anders, meanwhile, had exploded into laughter, badly disguised as a coughing fit.

Hawke made an involuntary wounded sound, glancing down at his exposed chest. "It's not that bad, is it?"

"I think it's...never mind." Fenris turned completely away.

Anders was wheezing. "Well, **I** like it," he managed shamelessly, before bursting into giggles.

Hawke clearly didn't know what to do with himself, looking between the two of him, then down at himself again, then at the two of them. For once the man was completely flabbergasted.

Merrill lifted her brows, glancing between the three males again. "Maybe not fingerpaints. But cake, at least. Fenris is baking me a cake, Hawke! He will bake one for you, too, I think."

Anders got control of himself, and was mildly flushed. "Maybe we should leave the planning to Mistress Hawke."

"Fenris can bake?"

"...no."

She huffed softly. "Harel era..." She tsked and shook her head. "A bad habit to be in."

"If you don't stop with the babbling - !"

" **Work** ," Hawke said, voice growing harder. He considered his options, how to divide the group without anyone getting killed. "Fenris, with me, Anders and Merrill, see if you can do anything with that garden plot."

Anders sat up straight, expression flat. "Whatever you need," he said, pushing to his feet and crossing the tiny yard, if indeed a patch of gravel could be called a yard.

Merrill joined him and they stood over the 'garden', a little square of brown grass and weeds with less gravel. "This will be fun," she assured him, though he hardly looked convinced. Anders shrugged out of his jacket, tossing it aside, then began to unfasten his robes.

"Are we getting naked?"

They worked for quite a while until the repairs were done and they were all thoroughly sweaty and filthy. The garden plot's hard soil had been turned, with no small amount of effort on the part of the two mages who did not employ magic for the chore. Hawke suggested a break to get cleaned up and he would treat lunch. 

Despite Merrill's query, they did not get naked, though the both of them had shucked off layers of clothing. Anders rose from the dirt, his pants dark with earth, his sleeveless undershirt dark with sweat. Merrill wore a shift of some rough-looking but soft-feeling cloth, and seemed very comfortable sitting in the fresh turned dirt. "Let's get washed," he told her, grabbing the tub and bringing it toward the pump.

"I think we can find some clean clothes if anyone wants to borrow anything," Hawke offered as they set out the tub.

Insecure, perhaps, about his lyrium brands, Fenris had been reluctant to undress even as the hot work grew even more uncomfortable in his dark, heavy armor. He'd started with his gauntlets, then his shoulder guards. When he finally relented to the heat and stripped off his shirt, Hawke's lack of comment was most appreciated - and if he found the mage's gaze on him from time to time, lingering, it--did not affect him as he might have expected. It was good, the man's steady presence strong and reassuring as it had always been. He'd almost forgotten the irritation that was the other two in the rhythm of hard work and quiet conversation.   


Anders paused, gaze flicking curiously over Fenris. His marks were striking, no doubt about it. Then to Hawke, who, as always, was deliciously thick and sculpted, with his darkly furred arms and chest. He felt desire coiling within him, recalled that evening he spent here, a drunken Hawke sprawled naked... And he ducked his head and pumped the lever, flushing the disturbing brown water through and into the gravel before it ran clear. Then he pulled the tub into place and worked the pump to fill it.

"I would be... swimming in your clothes, wouldn't I, Hawke?" Merrill asked, dipping her earth-blackened hands into the tub.

Anders huffed, half amusement, half exertion. "His mother might have something you could borrow."

"You would be swimming in his clothes, too." She told him.

"The point isn't to look pretty," Hawke pointed out. "Though if it's an issue I could see if Gamlen has anything. Carver's clothes are no longer an option."

Anders grimaced, and peeled his shirt off, dunking it in the tub and then using it like a wash rag. "It's fine, really." His torso was painfully thin, dusted with a bit of fine golden hair, and bore numerous scars, pale with age. Not battle-wounds, these. Anyone who was experienced in the ways of war, and had seen the resulting scars would know that. Just as anyone who had seen abuse and its marks would know what they were seeing. Anders didn't normally shed the shirt around the others, so this was the first glimpse any of them had of him.

Merrill stared openly at him, and he studiously ignored her. Fenris only glanced briefly and looked away - both signs of hunger and abuse were things he has seen so many times that they did not seem abnormal to him. But Hawke's gaze did linger, and he made no secret of it. The stubborn set of his jaw warned that he would be watching every bite Anders took that afternoon.

Anders tried to pretend he was alone as he washed the sweat from his upper body, and wrung the shirt over his head several times. Shame welled up inside him, at being seen like this, at being pitied by his friends, followed hotly by Justice's outrage at his reaction. He squeezed his eyes shut as he roughly scrubbed the shirt against itself in the tub, lifted and wrung it out, best that he could, then drew it on over his head. The cool wet press of it against his skin soothed him, and he relaxed, opening his eyes.

Merrill had followed his lead, pulling off her shift and washing it quickly, without a thought for the fact that she was squatting in her knickers amongst three men. She too pulled the damp article back on, then moved to her discarded things and began to dress.

Hawke had left briefly while the two washed, and after a moment Anders felt Hawke's hand on his back. "No, take that off. Here." Hawke thrust a towel at him. He had a clean shirt, one that had always been small on him, slung over a shoulder waiting on the other Mage.

Anders gave a start at the unexpected contact and tipped his head back to look at Hawke. "If you insist," he stripped off the shirt and accepted the towel, straightening to his feet as he rubbed the water from his skin and hair. He draped the towel over the pump and accepted the shirt with a small smile. "Thank you, Hawke."

It was warm red flannel and Hawke frowned a little at a smear of dirt he'd left on it. "Not perfect but better than sitting around wet. Sorry if I got sweat on it." He turned to the tub, splashing water on himself. "If you like it you can keep it. Sleeves are too short on me. Maybe you can rip it up for bandages."

Anders held it in his hands, and when Hawke ducked to splash water on his face and hair, the healer lifted the shirt to his face, inhaling the scent of Hawke. Quickly and discretely, of course. Then he slipped it on, and began fastening it up. Merrill was watching him, her face expressionless. Fenris may have caught the action as well, though he was in no mood to draw attention to it, and kept avoiding others' eyes. He had not moved toward the tub, preferring to do such a thing privately.

Hawke scrubbed away without noticing a thing.

Merrill rose to her feet, tugging her damp, clinging shift down over her hips, then she twirled in the open space between the pump and the garden plot, spreading her arms wide in the sunshine. "It's a beau-ti-ful day, isn't it?"

Anders, surrounded by the thick, warm, Hawke-scented shirt, found himself agreeing with her. "It is." He glanced at Hawke.

"Merrill, there's an old dress of mother's over by the towels for you," Hawke said, rinsing his chest.

She gasped, pausing mid-twirl and wobbling dizzily. "Ma serannas, Hawke!" She swerved toward the stack of cloth, lifting the dress with a broad smile. "Oh my!" She pulled it on over the damp shift, and tied it about her. "I feel so fancy!"

Hawke almost suggested she not wear the wet shift, then thought better. He glanced at Fenris. "Fenris? Didn't you -?"

"I...will wait."

Anders cast a sideways glance at Fenris, then looked to Hawke. "So what is the plan?"

"I'll go pick up some food and bring it back - care to come along?"

He grinned widely. "Of course!"

"Me too!" Merrill chimed in, with an almost imperceptible glance toward Fenris and then back to Hawke. "So I can show off the lovely Shem dress!"

And if Anders lost a bit of his grin, well, he was still pretty pleased at the moment.

"I suppose we could all go," Hawke mused. "Let's wait inside, and Fenris can come when he's ready," he said, attempting to shuffle them toward the door.

"Oh." Merrill paused, "No don't let me um, don't... I'll stay, and keep Fenris company. I need a word with him anyway."

"Are you sure?" Hawke asked, frowning, confused by the change.

She laughed and waved him off. "Go! Bring food for all these hungry tummies!"

Anders arched a brow but wasn't about to complain about the stroke of luck.

Hawke shrugged pulling on a shirt. "All right. We'll bring something good. Anders?"

The mage smiled wide, nodding. "I'm with you, Hawke."

Merrill clasped her hands behind her back and waited for the humans to disappear inside the house before she turned to regard Fenris. "I'll give you your space in just a moment," she assured him. "But I have something to say, first."

He looked at her flatly, feeling hot and sweaty and exposed, particularly with Hawke gone, and beginning to regret waiting. He didn't know why he'd thought it would be a small thing to wait until the others went in.

"You're a liar. You lied. To Hawke." She folded her arms and made the statements like she was commenting on the weather.

He grunted. "Mind your business and leave mine out of it," he said, turning to the tub.

"You made it mine when you included me in your tricksome tale," she said, her tone sharpening slightly.

"Did I say something to harm him?" He demanded. "To put him at risk? What is it, exactly, you are objecting to?"

She sighed, and dropped her arms to her sides. "It wasn't a harmful lie, no," she admitted, "but it was an untruth. I am not here to judge your reasons for speaking untruths to our friend Hawke. They are your business. But when you choose to lie, your word loses meaning."

"I would never lie about something important," he said. "And you **were** concerned. He didn't need to know..."  _Know how panicked he'd been, thinking Hawke had been in danger. Know he'd rushed out just to check on him. Know he'd, yes, been looking for an excuse to see him during their "days off"._

She stared at him for a long moment. "He won't. Not from me. Not at all."

He grunted, reaching for one of the wash clothes Hawke had brought. "If you are finished..."

Wordlessly, she turned and let herself into the house.

"So, big changes ahead, huh?" Anders prompted as he walked alongside Hawke.

"Not so terribly big. I'm sure not too much will change."

"So we'll continue working together, then?" He asked.

"Did you want to stop?" He asked, glancing at him in surprise.

"What?! No! I.." He laughed a bit, looking away. "I feared that we'd reached the end of our adventures together."

"That would be disappointing," Hawke said. "What are you hungry for?"

Anders licked his lips and tried to think of something that wasn't attached to the man at his side. "You know I'm not picky," he said softly, forcing a laugh.

"I intend to see you get at least one hearty meal in today, so you might as well pick something."

Anders flushed a bit, equally embarrassed and pleased. "What about that place with the skewered meat and vegetables? What was it they called those things? All stacked up on a stick..." His stomach growled fiercely at the thought of the meal.

Hawke chuckled. "All right, we can do that. So long as I don't have to tie you up and force you." He was in a much better mood now, work and companionship having relaxed him.

Anders grinned slyly. "Oh ho! Don't tempt me, now."

"You're taking extra home with you."

"I won't complain. I could eat four of those things right this minute!"

"Four it is then," Hawke said, making the appropriate turn. He was quiet for a moment. "Thank you, by the way. For...coming by."

"You are always welcome to my time and attention, Hawke. I was glad to be here, with you."

"Well..." He frowned, then forced the words out. "Sorry for the mood. That wasn't fair to you."

"It wasn't fair to you, either," he pointed out gently. "And you don't need to apologize. I am your friend, Hawke. I understand that it is a difficult situation, and I want you to know that I'm here for you, in every capacity you may need."

He glanced at him, opened his mouth, then closed it and simply nodded.

Anders smiled and reached out to pat Hawke's shoulder.

Hawke pulled open the door to the restaurant and held it for him.

Back at the house, Fenris had finished washing up and put on the sweater Hawke had lent him and was doing his best to avoid talking to Merrill.

And she was doing her best to not hear the **noises** coming from Gamlen's room. She was so grateful when Fen came inside, she immediately began chattering at him, about any and everything she could think of that didn't have to do with feathers, butts, or old shems in their small clothes!


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit longer than usual, I didn't want to break up the flow of the story. Enjoy!

There was a light wrap upon the door, followed by Bodhan's distinctive voice through the solid wood portal. "So sorry to disturb you, Messere, but you have company. Shall I send them to the library to wait for you or would you rather I ask them back at another time? Ah, Messere?"

"Just send them in," Hawke called. He was in his new room, buried in a box, rifling through his belongings.

"Ah- yes, Messere. As you say!" There was silence for several minutes, followed by the return of Bodhan's voice. "-didn't ask, so I suppose you're to go on in, then. And here we are." There was a pause, followed by someone uttering a low word. "Oh! Of course, of course! I'll just be downstairs if either you, or Messere Hawke have need of me." Then silence, followed by the click of the door.

It opened to reveal Anders, looking harried and bemused. He stepped inside and shut the door behind him.

"Makers breath, but that must get old fast," he murmured, eyes shifting around the extravagant interior. "Well, this is certainly something." The apostate took a few steps into the room, eyes at last going to Hawke.

He could see little more than the mage's backside sticking up out of the box as he continued to rummage. "At least we'll have more space now," his voice came out muffled.

Anders smiled slightly, admiring that view more than any of the finery in the room. "Doesn't all this velvet and gilded nonsense set your teeth on edge?" He asked playfully.

Hawke's head finally popped up from inside the box, hair on end, beard full of fuzzies. He looked around the room and grimaced. "Mother's idea."

Anders laughed softly and stepped closer. "Oh, you've got..." He pointed at Hawke's beard.

He reached up, swiping at it, not getting a single one. Anders stepped closer and lifted his hands to Hawke's beard, which the man helpfully thrust forward, nimbly plucking the fuzzies out for him. "There you are," he grinned up at Hawke, rubbing his fingers together to loose the fuzzies from his fingertips.

"Thanks," he said. "This moving stuff has me all turned around."

"I didn't think the old broom look was for you," Anders grinned, taking a step back. "Can I help?"

"Uh sure. I was looking for...well, nevermind. I could use help getting those shelves moved."

He arched a brow. "Very well. Whenever you're ready." Not that Anders was particularly strong, but he would help where asked. As always.

"I want it on this wall," Hawke said, moving away from the box to the shelf. It was a large, sturdy thing, of dark polished wood, and looked to be quite heavy.

"Right... I'll give it my best," Anders promised, moving to one side of the shelf and taking a moment to find hand holds.

"From the bottom," Hawke instructed.

Anders squatted and gripped lower. "Right. On your mark."

Hawke nodded and bent. "Lift!"

Anders did - or tried to. "Makers balls!" He gasped, straining against it. "What is this made of? Solid rock?!"

Hawke put his end down and stepped back, eyeing Anders. "Uh, maybe I'll get Fenris to help me with it," he decided. "You can help unpack."

He slowly rose, pale face scarlet with exertion or perhaps embarrassment. He grimaced unhappily at mention of the elf. "Maybe if I..."

"It's ok, really. I need to get these boxes emptied. I cant find my favorite shirt."

"What's it look like?" He wondered, turning to the boxes. He felt the sting of embarrassment, yet, but he intended to be of some use.

"It's red, flannel, worn as shit," Hawke said, opening another box.

Anders blinked and his face went all the redder. "Oh. Uh..." He stood there dumbly, unable to think of what to say, though certainly not 'I'm actually intimately familiar with that shirt.'

"I'm sure it will turn up," Hawke said.

"Right. It has to be here, somewhere." He answered, feeling strangely guilty. _It was Hawke's favorite shirt! He ought to give it back. Yes, he would give it back. He would get it and sneak it in here and..._ "Do you recall which box it went into?"

"No, I don't remember packing it at all. I'll have to go see if I can buy another one. It's a...terribly Fereldan garment."

Anders wilted slightly. "I'm sure it will turn up," he said in what he hoped was an encouraging manner.

Hawke glanced at him, and frowned at his expression. "You-? What's wrong? You're not beating yourself up over the shelf are you?"

He winced. "Well I wasn't, but now..." He spread his hands.

Hawke chuckled. "Come on, you know I don't keep you around for your muscles."

"Right, it's my brilliant mind, dashing good looks, and charming personality." He stooped over a box and began to pull out articles.

"Well, naturally."

Anders grinned and relaxed a bit, straightening to take an armload of clothing to Hawke's fancy new armoire. "So, is it strange, living up here in Hightown?"

"The smell is better," Hawke said. "And the food. Hard to sleep without the sounds of someone being murdered outside but maybe one of these nights I'll get lucky."

Anders paused, lifting his brows. "Looking to get lucky, one of these nights?" He asked far too innocently for it to be anything other than innuendo.

He gave a soft amused snort, and one of those grins that was becoming increasingly less rare. "Har har. You jest but it's nice to have this, at least, off my mind."

"Your family, safe and secure behind these strong, shiny walls. Of course I understand. You certainly deserve a bit of luxury, and peace of mind."

"I've even considered breaking into one of mother's bottles of bath bubbles," he chuckled.

"Her what?" He turned, lifting a brow and regarding Hawke curiously.

"Er...never mind."

The apostate cocked his head, expression curious, but he didn't press. "Well, whatever it is, you likely could get away with it. I imagine she's tickled pink with you right about now."

Hawke eyed him then, frowning. "You really don't know?"

Anders took his eyes from a threadbare pair of socks, to regard Hawke again. "Know what?"

"About, you know, the bubbles."

Anders turned to face him, expression one of mild confusion. "Bubbles?"

He sighed, rolled his eyes skyward. "You pour the gel into your bath and it makes bubbles and it smells nice."

"You mean like... soap?"

"Kind of, yeah."

"Fancy lady soap... Got it. I mean, if that's what does it for you, Hawke, by all means..." Anders grinned and turned toward the box again.

He unpacked several boxes worth of Hawke's clothing, all the while trading smiles and jokes with his friend. The discomfort he felt at being not only in Hightown, but also inside a huge and expensive manse like this, slowly faded into the background.

"You've got so much room, here!" He was saying, "what will you do with it all?"

"I was thinking of opening a dance hall," Hawke teased.

"I didn't know you danced," Anders said with a grin.

"I don't. Well, Fereldan county jigs, but mostly I'd stick to the refreshment table, make sure Carver and his friends didn't spike the punch."

Anders lifted a hand to cover his mouth, even as an amused laugh bubbled forth. "Oh no! Whatever will Messere Hawke do once all the invitations to fancy Hightown balls start pouring in?"

He grimaced at that, not pausing in his work. "Mother's already been at me about that. Do you have any idea how hard it is to avoid a woman looking for a husband? Their mothers and aunts are worse."

"Actually, no. I don't. That is one problem I've never been faced with." He continued to smile, though there was a slight shift in his eyes. A dimming. "Welcome to being Hightown's newest eligible bachelor, Hawke."

"The crafty ones will try to engineer to be caught alone in a compromising position with you," Hawke said, then sighed. "Can you imagine, me, settling down, being respectable?"

Anders studied him for a moment, face thoughtful, then he looked away and grinned. "Not with some Hightown lady."

"But with someone, huh? Traitor. You're supposed to be on my side."

He shrugged, smiling and not looking at Hawke. "Hey, I'm not saying it's happening anytime soon. But maybe one day, you'll decide you've found someone who makes you happy, and you'll want for no one else. Nothing else." He bit his lip, eyes on the box before him, but not seeing any of the contents. _Getting a bit heavy there._

"Who knows - maybe I will have time for that, now."

Anders slowly lifted his head, lips parting in surprise. His gaze moved to Hawke. "A change of pace," he said agreeably, pleased that his voice sounded reasonably normal. "You certainly won't have to work nearly so hard, now."

"At least it will keep the templars off my back. I'll sleep better knowing mother isn't going to wake with a rat running over her knees."

Anders nodded slowly, glancing away again. "All very good things to come from this move. Do you think things will change, now? I mean, it isn't as though you need to take all those jobs anymore..."

Hawke folded up an emptied box and slid another close. "What, I should sit around and get fat instead?"

He chuckled, looking to Hawke. "It wasn't a suggestion, Hawke. I suppose I just wanted to be sure we'd still see you around. For jobs, the Hanged Man, you know... The usual stuff that you technically don't have to do anymore. I'm sure I'm not the only one who would miss it."

He stilled for a moment, glancing at him. "I think I would miss it too. Though I'm surprised to hear you say that, after the Deep Roads."

"You are my friend, Hawke. Of course I want to spend time with you." He spread his hands. "I mean, I didn't come up to Hightown for the scenery." _-you call this man your friend, yet every word out of your mouth to him is misdirection or outright lies-_ The sentiment was purely Justice, and Anders deemed to ignore it.

 

Hawke snorted softly and shook his head. "Well," he said, faltered. "Well."

Anders paused, in the face of that response. _He'd said too much - pushed too hard - it was too soon - he'd screwed it up._ "Sorry, I..." He wet his lips and looked away, feeling his insides crumbling away. "You know, I just remembered I have ah... There's a.." He swallowed. "I should get going."

"So soon?" Hawke asked, glancing at him.

Anders was torn. "Would you like me to stay?" He asked quietly.

"Not if you don't want to," he answered with a frown.

_-this is what you get for lying to your friend-_

Anders laughed bitterly. "Perhaps I can for a bit longer. I did want to visit, it's been almost a week, hasn't it?" 

"Afraid of being put to work, were you?" Hawke glanced around the disaster that would one day be his bedroom and shrugged. "We could go hunt down something to eat."

"I'm not afraid of work, Hawke. I just..." He frowned and looked away. "You certainly don't have to feed me. I just wanted to talk." He moved to the box he'd abandoned and pulled out some articles.

"Until you develop a belly it is my solemn, near sacred duty to feed you," he said seriously. "Come on." 

Anders blinked, looking up at Hawke. _See, it was things like this that he loved about the man. Always looking out for the wellbeing of others._ Anders was unused to anyone looking out for him. It was impossible not to adore Hawke. "You drive a hard bargain." He said with a small smile and straightened, moving toward Hawke.

"I've been accused of such before," Hawke admitted. "There's a restaurant close by. My treat, of course."

Anders laughed nervously. "You sure they'd serve the likes of me?"

"What, skinny and squirrelly? I think we'll manage."

Anders frowned. _Squirrelly?_ "I meant the fact that I live in a sewer, and therefore, smell like one. But I'm sure any place in Hightown would be willing to overlook it for the right jingle of coin, right?"

"You want a bath first?"

Anders scoffed and reached out to give what was meant to be a playful shove, though Hawke didn't shift in the least. "Let's just go before I change my mind."

"Giving an awful lot of orders for a man getting a free lunch."

Anders tilted his head, regarding Hawke. "I'll take a bath if you really want me to. It was a kind offer. Maybe you can show me the bubbles?!" He grinned wide.

"That's more like it. Right this way."

Anders felt the tiniest thrill as he fell into step behind Hawke. The anticipation stirred Justice, who wanted to know what elicited such a response.

"I've been dying to show this off," Hawke confessed, leading the way down the hall. "Best thing about Hightown is hot running water."

"Hot running water," Anders echoed, disbelief and wonder audible in his voice.

The bathroom he led him to came with a very large deep tub and even a shower. Due to necessity, this room was largely unpacked, with soaps and shampoos at the ready, a nearby box holding thick towels just bought by Leandra.

Anders turned slowly, eyeing the entire room and its facilities. "Maker's breath," he murmured. "This is at least as big as my clinic..." He looked to Hawke, "a bit different from a little tub and a pump out back."

"I'll say," Hawke agreed. "Here are the bubbles. Pour in a little bit while the tub is filling."

Anders peered at the aforementioned bottle, then at the huge tub. "Wait... Filling? I'm going to fill this?!"

Hawke chuckled and reached past him, demonstrating the faucets. "Cold is here, and there's hot."

"Hawke... I'm going to wash up, not have a swim. This is... It's almost obscene. What am I going to do in all that water? There's room for five more people in there."

"Well, next time you should invite five people- do you have to argue with everything I say?"

He glanced away, coloring. "Sorry. Thank you for inviting me to partake of your facilities. I'm just a little overwhelmed." He leaned down to place the stop over the drain, then ran the water, hot water. His hand darted under the stream, and his eyes widened. "It is hot!"

"I did say it would be, didn't I?" Hawke chuckled. "Add some cold. Towels are there, and I'll look into finding something you can wear."

He yanked his hand out of the now steaming stream with a soft yelp, shaking it slightly, then reached to turn on some of the cold. Tentatively, he tested the water again and made another adjustment.  
"Hawke," he began, but then, recalling Hawke's comment about him arguing over everything, changed what he would say, "thank you."

"Of course," he said. "I'll give you some privacy if you think you've got the hang of it now."

He lifted his gaze to Hawke's face, wanting to argue one last time, wanting to ask him to stay. But he didn't. "Alright."

"Just yell if you start to drown."

True to his word, Hawke left him then, pausing only to put out one of the towels (new and so very plush and soft). There were plenty of clothes Carver had left behind when he'd gone to the templars, and Leandra had been furious at her son's suggestion they burn them. He supposed they would come in useful now. He went in search of the box.

Anders stripped off all of his clothes, making a neat pile on a countertop, then took up the bottle of bubbles. He examined the label, opened the stop and sniffed the contents, poured a bit onto his fingers to check the consistency, attempting to determine what made it special. The massive tub was about a third of the way full, so he poured a bit of the bottle's contents in. Nothing seemed to happen at first, so he poured a bit more, then capped the bottle and set it aside.

He froze, catching his reflection in a large mirror, then slowly approached the looking glass, examining himself. His body was thin and narrow, all lines and sharp angles. Pale skin with sparse golden hair, a dusting of freckles, and angry scars crisscrossing his torso.

Slowly, he pulled the tie from his hair, letting the dirty blonde strands fall into his face, to his scruffy chin. He brushed the hair out of his eyes, and continued to regard himself.  _I am not a monster, he thought. I am not without worth. Not without honor. Not unattractive. Not unloveable..._ Delicate fingertips traced one jagged scar along his ribcage. Memories swam in his mind. Justice was trying to make the connection, nudging it to the surface. _Pain. Confusion. Fear._ A crackle of blue energy pressed through his skin, reaching for the surface. 

"Stop."

He turned from the mirror and gasped. The tub looked like a boiling pot, with bubbles standing almost a foot above the edge of the tub. He hurried over and turned the water faucet off, then regarded his bath, utterly bemused. There was nothing for it but to get in. He stepped into the tub, breath catching at the warmth. The bubbles stood what was nearly an arm length above the water's surface, so he was in no danger of overflowing the tub. Slowly, he sank into the delicious heat, his muscles relaxing almost immediately.

"Andraste's tears..." He mumbled, surrounded by frothy fragrant foam. Luckily, the bubbles seemed to dissipate as he touched them, so he was in no danger of suffocating. The water was high on his chest, only head and shoulders not submerged. He drew a deep breath and slipped under.

Hawke had left him in there a good while before rapping on the door, letting himself back in without waiting for permission. "I think these should fit yo-" he cut off at the tower of bubbles.

Anders turned in the tub, but could see nothing but bubbles. "Hawke?" He asked softly from within the mass of foam. "I can see why you like the bubbles..."

"Why thank you. Was that so hard to admit?"

He cocked his head, water and soap dripping from the damp-dark strands. "No?"

"I'm leaving these clothes on the counter," Hawke said. "Take your time and enjoy yourself."

"I-" he shifted, to the sound of swirling water, "Hawke, wait."

He put the clothes down, turning toward the tub. "Hm?"

"You wanted to eat, and I don't want to make you wait. Just let me rinse off, and we can go." He pawed at the bubbles, trying to pop them to offer him a view of the burly mage.

"No, I wanted **you** to eat. You can relax first. Seems like you need it. No rush."

He sat there for a moment, not knowing how to respond. "Uh... Thanks, Hawke," he said at last, sinking back into the water, down to his chin.

He paused, passing, reaching down to brush bubbles from Anders face. "I'll be in the library. "

Anders lifted a hand, wanting to touch Hawke's, though he held back, keeping it hidden in the foam, and offered his friend a small smile instead. "I'll come find you," he promised.

"No rush," he emphasized again.

"Right. Okay. Thanks." He sunk a bit lower. Hawke headed out, closing the door behind himself. Anders soaked for a bit longer, letting his mind drift. Then he decided he'd best get some washing done, since he was in a bath. He shampooed his hair, scrubbed himself down from scalp to toes, and by then most of the bubbles had deflated or popped. He pulled the stop and let the tub drain, carefully climbing out. He found the towel, and was both surprised and pleased by its thick, plushy softness. He rubbed the water from his body and hair, then went to have a look at the clothing that Hawke had left out for him.

He certainly wasn't picky about such things, and quickly donned the clothes, having to cinch the belt to keep the trousers on his hips. The tunic was also big, but he didn't mind that. He pulled on his boots and carefully gathered his own clothes, exiting the bathroom, and looking for the library. He couldn't recall where it was, exactly so he just wandered, listening for voices.

"-really fond of those feathers," Hawke's voice drifted from the proper room, "so take extra care there." Anders followed the sound of Hawke's voice, stepping through the doorway into what was clearly the library, judging by the books lining the walls. When he entered, Hawke greeted him with a smile. "Bodhan is going to have your clothes washed while we eat," Hawke said. "How are you feeling? You smell lovely."

Anders smiled warmly in response to Hawke's greeting, and his questions. "Oh, thank you, really." He offered his clothing to the dwarf, then looked to Hawke again. "I feel... clean and new. Thank you, again."

"You can come by and use it whenever you want," he offered. "You hungry?"

His eyes and smile both widened at the offer, and he nodded. "I am, yes."

"Let's not waste any more time, then," Hawke suggested.

"Alright, Hawke. I'm with you."

Hawke led the way out of the manse and out into the Hightown streets, where the sun had gotten lower. Anders moved to walk at his side once they were on the street. For once, he felt like walking with head high, not ducking and hurriedly pacing these too-clean streets. He didn't stick out like a sore thumb, either. Didn't garner half so many suspicious looks. He felt at ease.

"What sounds good to you?" Hawke asked as they walked, appreciating how much more confident Anders seemed now.

Anders laughed softly, shaking his head. "I have no idea! Does this restaurant have a speciality? Do you have a favorite dish? I... don't have a lot of experience with varied cuisine."

"We'll have a look when we get there, I guess. But you have to promise me something."

Anders tilted his head, looking at Hawke. "Alright, what is it?"

"You're going to order without looking at the price."

The blond laughed. "Alright. I promise."

"Good," he nodded, and even smiled, much less tightly wound than the man he'd been when they first met.

And Maker, Anders loved those smiles. They warmed him, inside and out. He couldn't help but smile, too. "It's an easy enough promise to keep."

"You would think," he said, "but I'm sure you'll find some way to argue..."

He pressed his lips together and glanced away. "I made a promise."

Hawke chuckled a little, shaking his head as he noted the reaction. A menu was posted outside the restaurant, and Hawke paused to look over the offerings.

Anders stepped up at his side and peered at the menu. "Is this in Common?" He asked, squinting.

"Orlesian. Man this all sounds fancy," Hawke actually seemed a little disappointed.

"You haven't been here before?" Anders asked.

"No- I wanted to give you a nice meal, but, hearty, not frou frou."

Anders bit at his lip. "What now?"

"Well...let's try it anyway," Hawke decided.

Anders nodded and smiled. "I'm with you." The pair of them stepped inside, Anders peering curiously about the interior. His experience with restaurants was limited to a few inns and taverns, and a whorehouse, on par with the Hanged Man for cleanliness and decor. This place was something else entirely. Dimly lit, with rich, dark woods, gilded accents, and delicately painted decorative screens. It was indeed very fancy, and they received more than a few curious looks as they were shown to the table. Anders did not cower under those stares. He was here with Hawke, and he was proud of it.

They were shown to a table, and Hawke accepted a leather-bound menu. "Ok I think this is pork," Hawke pointed at the menu. "This is fish, and this is....uh..."

"I had no idea you could read Orlesian, Hawke." Anders grinned, leaning an elbow on the table. "That's...classy."

"Mother tried to teach me but I'm really bad at it. This uh-" he waved the waiter over to order appetizers by pointing. He ordered drinks as well.

Anders watched Hawke interact with the waiter, grinning all starry eyed. "You're really something."

"For all you know I ordered pickled nug toes and green goats milk."

Anders blinked, leaning back in his chair, face screwing up. "Is that really on the menu?!"

"I can't be sure," he grinned.

"Am I going to regret this meal, Hawke?" Anders asked, face serious.

"Anders, how could you ever regret an adventure with me?" He teased. "What sounds good for the main meal?"

"I really couldn't," he said with a small smile. "Maybe something with meat?" His stomach growled audibly. "And bread. Vegetables..."

"Uhhh right..." Hawke pulled the menu closer.

When the waiter came it was with wine, a cheese plate he promised "tasted like despair", and a bowl of snails soaked in butter. Hawke was very hesitant as he made their food orders. Anders watched him, eyes twinkling. Listening to Hawke speak even halting, awkward Orlesian was hot. After the waiter left again, Hawke looked over their appetizers. "Well. Uh. Dig in, I guess."

Anders chuckled and peered at the plate. "And these are...?"

"It's an adventure, right? Let's try them."

Anders shrugged and picked up a fork, spearing one and popping it in his mouth. He chewed. And chewed. And chewed... His eyes told the entire story of his experience with the food. Curiosity, surprise, displeasure, revulsion, horror. Hawke watched this all in growing fascination turning slowly to a large boyish grin. Giggles. Yes. Anders grabbed a brocaded napkin and deposited the contents of his mouth into it. Then he folded it closed and wiped at his tongue. Hawke's giggles were contagious. He reached for the wine.

"I know I should apologize," Hawke said. "But your face is priceless."

Anders took a drink of the wine. "Maker, this is good. Try the wine, Hawke." Hawke reached for it, sniffing before taking a sip. Anders drained his glass, eyeing Hawke. "Are you going to try one?"

"That would be fair, wouldn't it? Show me how to do it again?"

Anders gave him a Look, then stabbed another snail, holding it before his mouth and giving Hawke an arch look.

"I dare you. You have to swallow this time."

His brow lifted and his eyes twinkled. "Oh, I never shy from swallowing," he murmured, winked, and popped it in his mouth. Whoops. Must be the wine!

Hawke grinned back, scooped up two, and followed suite. His expression of disgust was immediate.

"Mmmm! Mm!! Mmmmmmmm!" Anders hummed and moaned as if it was the best thing he'd ever tasted. His brows waggled and his eyes fluttered, almost orgasmic. And he made a great show of swallowing it down.

Hawke glared and tried not to gag on the disgusting stuff, swallowing too soon and reaching for the cheese plate, shoving his face full to get rid of the taste. His face paled. He spit the cheese into a napkin. "That really does taste like despair," he rasped.

Anders drew a deep breath through his nose, smiling triumphant. In truth, he was struggling not to heave it back up. A moment or two passed, and someone had come to refill his glass. Then he took another sip and said, "Is that what he said? I couldn't really understand anything." Hawke nodded, draining his glass and motioning for the waiter to refill before walking away. Anders giggled a bit, feeling mildly tipsy. The wine might not have been particularly strong but his stomach was definitely empty. Except for the snail - _oop! Best not to think about that..._ "I'm glad we'll still be having adventures."

"Me too," Hawke agreed. "Maker, where's the real food?"

"You're sure they have that here?" Anders grinned.

"Cheeky shit," Hawke laughed.

Anders laughed as well, and felt at almost perfect ease. The wine made him feel warm and free, and Hawke, doubly so. He would willingly eat any Orlesian garbage to make Hawke smile and laugh at him like that. "I can't have you thinking I'm slipping," he said, cheekily, and winked.

"Maker forbid, anything but that," Hawke laughed. "I'd much rather see you like this."

Anders beamed at him. "I could say the same, Hawke," he replied very, very warmly.

Hawke picked up the cheese plate, offering it to him. "Despair?"

Anders chuckled. "I suppose," after all, he would certainly know the accuracy of the flavor. He reached for a cube and popped it into his mouth, chewing slowly as he processed the taste. His brows drew together.

"Amazing, isn't it?"

Anders swallowed, then grimaced. "Why would anyone try to achieve such a thing? Are nobles really that bored? So disenchanted with their perfect, charmed lives?" His mood was souring, like the cheese on his tongue.

"Well, they don't have sewer-dwelling justice-possessed apostates to distract them," Hawke said. "Maker, I hope the real food is better."

Anders blushed, eyes dropping to his plate, not entirely sure if the comment had been an affectionate tease, or a barb. He really didn't want it to be a barb, but the thought would not leave him. Justice did not understand the emotions swelling in him at what was an accurate depiction of his host. - _Why was there embarrassment and hurt over truth?-_

"It would have to be, wouldn't it?" Anders replied, softly, gravely. "Unless this restaurant functions as a novelty, only..." _Yes. That would be just like nobility, wouldn't it? Paying hard coin for purposefully disgusting food, in order to simulate how those beneath them lived on the daily. Just for kicks._ He scowled.

Hawke frowned as he watched the odd change coming over him. "We'll go somewhere else after, if it is," he promised. "I'm going to get that belly full."

Anders blinked, peering at Hawke again. _The man was a treasure, worrying for him like that._ His emotions swung back around again and he felt a moment of flailing from Justice.

Managing a small smile, he said. "I appreciate that, Hawke. But I would hate for this to be a waste. Whatever it is, can it really be worse than Lowtown fare?"

"Would you like another bite of despair?" Hawke asked, as if that answered the question.

"Thank you, no," he lifted a staying hand, smiling crookedly. "I think I've had enough for one lifetime, thanks."

"I think so too," Hawke said, more soberly, putting the plate back down. "How are things at the clinic? Any problems, after being gone for so long?"

"No problems, really. I've actually been making some purchases, to improve things. Several cots for patients, stacks and stacks of fresh clean linens and bandages, and a sturdy cabinet to hold medicines and things for my help, who receive actual wages, now." He smiled, clearly proud.

"That's really great," Hawke said. "You do good work, Anders. Important work. Just don't forget to take care of yourself too."

He frowned slightly, as though Hawke had spoken Orlesian. "Right."

"I mean it," he pressed. "You won't be much use to your patients if you compromise your health."

"I need to be fit enough for our adventures, at least," Anders said with a small smile.

"That, too. But I know my idiot escapades aren't, and shouldn't be, your priority. Still, I need you."

"You are very much a priority to me, Hawke. And I will be here for as long as you need me." _Because I need you, too._

He opened his mouth to answer but before he could the waiter returned with their meal. Two plates very artistically arranged, to the point where it was hard to tell what exactly they were getting. One was a tall tower of thin meat sticks on a bed of purple leaves and a mashed something that was blue. It was on fire. The other was paper thin slices of meat, somehow shaped into a bowl and filled with a chunky pink soup with small star-shaped croutons on the side and an island of broccoli in the middle.

"Uhhhh take your pick..." Hawke offered.

Anders stared at the two, bewilderment plain on his face. Then he began to laugh. He laughed and laughed, becoming near to hysterical. Finally he pointed at the non-flaming one, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. He was mildly embarrassed. It was an inappropriate response. But he couldn't help it. He'd never seen anything to ridiculous in his life.

Hawke quietly thanked the offended waiter, blowing out the flames. His big shoulders were hunched slightly but his amber eyes were full of mirth. He picked up the first meat stick on the stack, crunchy and black from being aflame, and took a bite. Judging by his expression, it was....good.

Anders took up a spoon and dipped it into the pink stuff, giving it an experimental stir before he lifted it to his mouth. He sniffed at it, then tasted it. His brows rose. Quickly, he helped himself to a second spoonful.

"Is it ok?" Hawke asked.

"It's good," Anders assured him with a smile. "What about yours?"

"I like it. No hints of despair or anything."

Anders's smile widened. "I'm glad for that. You deserve happiness, Hawke."

Hawke snorted and almost choked on his next bite. Anders tilted his head curiously, watching Hawke as he dropped the croutons into the soup, then spooned one up. "Can you get full on that?" Hawke asked, offering him a handful of meat sticks.

"Hawke," Anders said in a whisper, "those are **yours**."

"Yes but I want you to try them. I have plenty. What I'm saying is, I want you to try my meat, Anders." Hawk teased with a grin.

Anders drew a soft breath, and his eyes darkened with desire. "I'd like that," he said low.

He laughed, not catching on to how serious Anders sounded as he put the offering on his plate. "The desserts shouldn't be as scary as the entrées I hope."

Anders shifted in his seat, suddenly aware of just how excited he was by Hawke's offer. He tried to calm himself and think about the meal, but his mind was overwrought with images of 'dessert'.

Hawke pulled some of the veggies from the bottom of his meat tower and the whole thing came crashing down. He tried a bite of everything together and was pleasantly surprised. Anders smiled fondly at the him, absolutely smitten. He picked up a meat stick and took a bite. _It was rather good._

Hawke leaned across the table, dipping one of the sticks into Anders soup without asking for permission. "What are the chunky things?"

"At first I thought it was a type of tuber, but... Squash, maybe? I'm not entirely sure, to be honest." He was glad to share his meal with Hawke. He wanted to share everything with the man.

"Huh. Really relieved it's not jellied nug brains or something."

Anders froze, his face blanching. "Th-that isn't a thing. Surely it isn't."

Hawke lifted his brows, grinning as he swirled another stick in the mashed-whatever on his plate. Anders leaned back in his seat, looking a little green. Hawke glanced up, frowning. "It's not in your food **now** ," he said. "It's perfectly safe and tasty."

"Are you sure? We don't know what those chunks are."

"You said squash." Hawke pointed out.

"Well, I thought it was... Until... Maker's Breath. I'm not sure I can eat anything, now."

"Let me try your chunks. I'll test them." Anders couldn't help but laugh a little, though he still felt nauseated. He gestured invitingly to his meat bowl. "You want to just trade?" Hawke offered.

He bit at his lip. "If that is what you want. But I don't mind sharing."

Hawke traded plates with him, settling back again and taking a big spoonful if soup. The chunky bits **were** rather soft and...mushy.

Anders picked at the blue mash, and nibbled on a meat stick. But the only thing he really seemed to eat with any conviction was the broccoli. He tried to think pleasant thoughts, like _returning to Hawke's new place, spreading out on that huge bed and feeling the larger man press down on him._ He sighed softly.

"...maybe we should order dessert," Hawke suggested. He tried some of the meat bowl the soup was held in.

Anders lifted a brow. "Oh, here, you mean?"

"Well yeah, might as well go all in. Mother's brought their desserts home before, and everything I've tried has been good."

Anders smiled a bit, then shook a finger. "No brains."

"Spoilsport." Hawke waved the waiter over. He was more confident in ordering this time. Anders watched him with hungry eyes. _A little something sweet to eat and then back to Hawke's place for some real meat._

At the end, Hawke ordered a third desert "to go" and sat back looking pleased with his performance. "Please tell me you're getting enough to eat," Hawke said, looking to Anders again. "I don't want you leaving unsatisfied."

"I trust that regardless of lunch, once we return to your place, I will be satisfied." He grinned.

"I just don't want to send you home without first filling you up."

Anders exhaled softly, shifted in his chair again, ever so grateful for Carver's baggy clothes. He attempted to reposition his aching length to a more discrete angle, and barely stifled a moan. "Maker, yes," he whispered. _He didn't care about dessert. He wanted to be at Hawke's place now, he needed Hawke._

The deserts they brought out were true works of art; spun sugar, lightly dusted powdered sugar, cakes and ices. The to go order, which they displayed to Hawke, was a masterpiece of cake and fruit and copious amounts of whipped cream. "Yes, that's perfect," Hawke said.

Anders stared at these, awed. "What? These are for eating?" He looked to Hawke, bewildered. His only answer was a huge grin. Anders grinned in response, for what else could he possibly do? "Where do we start?" He asked.

"Just shove our faces in and go."

Anders giggled a bit and dug a fork into the closest dish, lifting it to his mouth and taking the bite without hesitation. His eyes drifted closed. "Ohhh... This is... Mmmm." He licked sugar from his lips, grinning like a cat with cream. "You have to try it, Hawke."

Hawke returned the grin, leaning across the table to try a bite. Anders tried bites of everything - except the beautiful boxed cake - and then returned to his favorites with a vengeance, putting away the sweets like they were about to evaporate otherwise. Hawke seemed to take enjoyment from his enthusiasm, letting him have the greater share. It wasn't long before the dishes were all but licked clean, and Anders was looking quite pleased, with a hand settled on a delicate bulge at his stomach. "Hawke, I don't have the words to thank you," he said.

"I don't need words," he said, paying the bill. He did his best not to act like the bill was more than his family's entire monthly income back in Lothering. "That look on your face is enough."

"I'll just have to find **other ways** to repay you," he said, the suggestion clear, unless you were Leopold Hawke, apparently.

Maybe that time he did catch the hint. Hawke rose, stretching, then tucked the to-go box under his arm. "Probably time for a nap now. Want me to walk you home?"

Anders tilted his head slightly. "The clinic? Um..."

"Or wherever it was you wanted to go. I'm sure your clothes won't be dry yet but I'll bring them back."

He sat in his chair, floundering for something to say or do. He had clearly missed something. "Oh, right..." He pushed to his feet. "Home, I guess. But I don't want to..." He licked his lips, "I mean as long as it's no trouble. It's kind of a walk, now."

"I don't mind," Hawke promised. "I could use the exercise." A very subtle chill spell went onto the box to keep the desert from spoiling.

Anders nodded and followed him out of the restaurant, no longer aroused, thanks to his confusion and doubt. _Had Hawke changed his mind? Perhaps he was annoyed that Anders didn't finish his meal. He was always insistent that Anders eat. It had probably been expensive, too. How could he have screwed up so utterly? Hawke had actually **wanted** him, hadn't he? And now... _ He peered up at the taller mage as they walked side by side down the street. _Hawke was such a mystery. What could he possibly be thinking right now?_

"I'm glad you came by to see me," Hawke said, a few blocks later. "Man I feel stupid for the terrible meal though."

Anders brightened at once. _This was completely unexpected! He wasn't mad at Anders, but upset with himself!_ He lifted a hand to Hawke's arm, brushing his fingertips along it gently. "Please, don't feel bad. It was honestly a lot of fun, and what sort of adventure would it have been if everything were easy and expected? This has been the best day I've had in ages."

"That's- something I'm sorry to hear," Hawke said. "Helping me unpack and eating snails and despair cheese shouldn't be some kind of a highlight."

Anders chuckled, shaking his head. "Don't be an idiot, Hawke. Obviously it was the time spent with you that made it good for me."

He didn't look at him, shrugging a little. "There's no accounting for taste."

Anders glanced at him askance. "Funny, I thought you were enjoying it as much as I was. At least, that was the impression I got. Have you changed your mind?"

"What? No, it was fun."

Anders was slightly mollified by that, yet still, they were heading toward Darktown, rather than Hawke's place. "It was fun," he agreed. "And I thought we might have more fun, but I suppose naps are good, too. Building energy for the big expenditure later."

"What did you have in mind? My inventiveness ended with lunch."

Anders slowly went red, very very red, and looked away. _Okay, so Hawke had totally propositioned him, **hadn't he?** Was it a joke? Did he completely misunderstand?_

"I don't have any jobs lined up yet, want to get moved in first," Hawke explained. He motioned with the box. "I'm going to see if I can bribe Fenris into helping."

Anders felt a spike of jealousy at mention of the elf, and his eyes traveled to the cake. "If you want more help, I don't need to be bribed, Hawke," he said voice carrying a very slight edge.

He smiled. "I know you don't. He really doesn't either; I don't like asking for help. It's one thing if it's a job, but household stuff is..." He shrugged.

"What friends do for one another, no questions asked," Anders supplied.

"I hate to take you away from your clinic more than necessary."

"Do you?" He asked, unhappily.

"Of course. You're doing important work, Anders. More important than unpacking my underwear or knocking carta skulls."

Justice buzzed his agreement in Anders's mind. The healer sagged slightly about the shoulders. "I suppose work is more important than play," he allowed glumly. Then added, "but Hawke, promise me you won't let that keep you from including me, if you need me. I enjoy helping out. And the money helps."

"Of course I won't," Hawke said. "I need you. You've seen my healing."

Anders nodded, "I have," he chuckled softly. "And I'm glad to be needed."

"Good," Hawke said. "Don't know where we'd be without you."

He smiled slightly, definitely feeling better again. "Let's not think about that."

"You have a deal, my friend."

Their passage into and through Darktown was fairly unremarkable. Refugees huddled in makeshift shelters and around small garbage fires. Many recognized the healer, despite the missing feathers, and he received several soft greetings and murmurs of thanks or other well wishing. Not everyone paid them notice, of course, but those few who did so meant a lot to Anders.

"You're really important to them," Hawke said, quietly, as they walked, noting the other mage's reception with pride for his friend.

"So many refugees with nothing but the clothes on their backs. Someone has to care for them. Someone does." Anders sighed, head lowering. "I wish I could do more."

"I'll keep an ear out for opportunities," Hawke promised.

Anders looked up at him, and smiled. "You're a good man, Hawke. A good friend. Better than I deserve."

"I don't know about that," Hawke said.

Ahead, in the gloom, the clinic's lantern glowed softly. "If nothing is going on, I might close early. Send the herbalist and her apprentice home." Anders glanced at Hawke, watching his face, which seemed easier to read these days.

"I don't think a break would be amiss. You work hard for them."

Anders nodded, glancing at the cake box. Hawke would not stay. Did not want him. Want to play out all of the delicious fantasies he evoked during lunch. Anders has clearly misinterpreted what seemed obvious at the time. He felt foolish, and empty, and very alone.

"What did you have planned for the rest of the day?" Hawke asked.

"I'd been thinking about rolling around on that huge bed of yours. Something you said at lunch..." He smiled sadly and shook his head. "Nevermind..." He ascended the stair to the clinic door and paused, pushing a hand back through his loose hair.

Hawke's shock was immediate and obvious, though he tried to recover quickly. "Was it the snails or the despair?" He asked, attempting, poorly, to laugh it off.

"Something about giving me your meat, and making sure I was filled up, satisfied..." He didn't look at Hawke, couldn't. _That laugh was so awkward. He **had** completely misread the entire day._

"I- oh maker," Hawke ran his hand down his face. "My mouth just - I meant the **food** ; I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable. No wonder things seemed a little off."

"Don't be sorry," he said quietly. "I misunderstood. Thank you for lunch, Hawke. I'll be here when you need me." Anders reached for the door, but the truth was, he didn't want to face his helpers or really anyone just then.

"Well, but I am. I don't want you to think I was trying -- I just wanted to give you a good meal."

Anders leaned against the doorframe, staring at nothing. "Right, I know. You aren't interested. It was my mistake."

Hawke scratched at his beard. "I really appreciate your help," he said.

 _Maybe I am a monster. Without worth, honor. Unattractive, unlovable._ "Any time, Hawke. I'm always happy to help..." He still couldn't look at him.

Hawke shifted, uncomfortable with causing his friend such discomfort. "Right," he said. "Well...thanks again."

"See you soon." He didn't want to move. Didn't want to go into the clinic, couldn't face Hawke. He wanted to disappear.

Hawke hesitated. "Sorry," he said again, then turned away.

Anders tried to wait until Hawke was out of sight, though he did not look to see, before sliding down the doorframe to his knees, hands pressed to his face.


	20. Chapter 20

A light smattering of rain off the coast had more than the usual number of patrons fleeing to the Hanged Man, in various stages of soaked that Varric Tethras had no desire to indulge in, himself. He sat at his favorite table, idly scratching at his thick mop of chest hair as he frowned at the page before him, the words refusing to come.

Anders appeared in the doorway, gold hair and feathered jacket dark with rainwater, a grimace on his face, as he crossed the crowded room to the dwarf's table and threw himself into a nearby chair. "Why is it so busy?" He complained by way of greeting.

The dwarf looked up, looked him over, and then out over the mess of strangers. "Why, have a seat, Blondie," he chuckled, tossing his pen down, defeated for now. "What brings you here?"

_Crushing loneliness, desperate hope, the possibility of seeing Hawke..._ "Boredom," he answered lightly, lifting a hand to wipe rainwater from his face. He glanced to the pen and paper. "I'm not interrupting am I?"

"You're only rescuing me from my crushing inability to find the necessary plot point," Varric chuckled, waving the barmaid over. "Two!" He told her, then turned his eyes back on Anders. "And how is my favorite Darktown apostate these days?"

"Oh, uh, fine," he answered, sounding terribly unconvincing. "You know, just..."

"No progress, then?" The dwarf asked, looking at him keenly, knowingly.

Anders dropped his gaze to his lap. "I...thought so, but it turned out to be a really...really awful misunderstanding. I just don't know, Varric. I really don't..." He sagged slightly.

"Well, shit, Blondie, that's a shame," Varric said. "It'd make a great story: two moody mages against the world."

Anders frowned, not wanting to even entertain the thought. He'd been endeavoring to stop wanting it, to stop trying. To stop making such an utter fool of himself.

Their drinks arrived, and Anders took his up at once. Glancing to Varric, he said "If only I could just fold, like in cards."

"If you figure that one out, let me know," he said. "Would be a useful skill."

He met the dwarf's gaze and there was a moment of understanding that passed between them. Yes, Varric knew, all too well, his position. Anders lifted his mug and took a drink.

Varric looked back to his empty page, tapping his pen against it. "Think of the fortune we could make selling that secret."

Anders snorted. "Yes, we only need figure it out, first."

"The best stories end in broken hearts," the dwarf said, darkly, for him, and lifted his own mug.

A moment later the door to the tavern opened, admitting a couple who ducked quickly in, soaked and laughing, having attempted without success to shelter under a large blue flannel shirt. The smiles on both their faces were rare, bright, genuine, humerous. Fenris took the shirt from Hawke and made a show of wringing it out as the mage laughed and tried to grab it back. Their body language spoke volumes. Varric took note, literally, on his paper.

Anders felt paralyzed, pinned in place by what felt like a blade through the heart, unable to look away or even blink. The hand on his mug trembled.

Hawke finally managed to jerk the shirt back, shaking it out and thrusting his big arms through it, leaning in to say something that made the elf laugh like a big stupid dork and not at all like an angry brooding ex-slave who routinely thrust his hands into chests and pulled out still beating hearts. That expression didn't last his noticing Varric and Anders at the group's usual table, blanking as Varric, writing with sudden inspiration, lifted an arm to wave them over.

Anders continued to stare openly, even as his body, heart, mind screamed at him to stop, to move, to flee. Anything. His body began gearing up for fight or flight, adrenaline flooding his system.

"You decided to get out in this mess, Anders?" Hawke asked, pulling out a chair, waving a barmaid over, oblivious to the other mage's angst.

"You did too," Varric pointed out.

"But I can't be expected to go a day without seeing my trusty dwarf."

"I like the rain," Anders rasped, lifting his mug and drinking fully half of it down at once. His eyes slipped away from Hawke at last.

"Well in that case -"

"No jobs," Fenris said firmly, though with that slight one-corner upturn of his lip that bespoke amusement. He ducked as Hawke lifted a hand, briefly brushing the back of his head, then casually settling on the backrest of his chair. He didn't seem at all opposed to the contact or the lingering closeness of the limb.

"I've been arguing with this stubborn elf all day," Hawke said. "Varric, don't you think we could manage a little work in this?"

Anders dropped his gaze to his mug, feeling hollow. The thought of folding his dreams and desires, himself, like a bad hand of cards appealed to him far more strongly now. He wanted to drop out of the game. He wanted to fade into the background.

Varric shook his head. "It's not coming down hard, but it would be rude to make a lady work in the rain. Bianca would hold a grudge for weeks."

"Anders- surely you're on my side?"

"You know I am," he said into his mug, before taking another drink. He didn't look up.

"You are the only one, Anders," Hawke complained.

"I did not say I would not follow," Fenris said. "Merely that it would be unwise."

"I don't see why," Anders said, with perhaps a bit more bite than he ought. "A little water never hurt anyone."

"Yes, it certainly would not hurt anyone for footing to become slick," Fenris said. "There are absolutely no mishaps that could occur with impaired visibility either."

The healer's long fingers tightened on his cup, knuckles going white. "You don't **have** to come along..."

"A proposition which sounds even more foolish."

Anders lifted his eyes, not to the insufferable elf, but to Hawke, seeking some kind of, what? Support? Relief? He was struggling with holding back his own impulses that it wouldn't take much for Justice to push through, were the spirit so inclined. Luckily, he did not find fool matters of the heart worth his attention.

"Well count me out, personally," Varric chuckled, eyeing the two.

Unable to even catch Hawke's eye - for the man continued to stare at the elf - Anders relented, shoulders sagging. He drained his mug and planted an elbow on the table, dropping his cheek in hand and sulking. "I'm not in the mood, anyway."

"Something going on?" Hawke asked, looking at him then, concerned.

Anders wanted to ignore him, but he could hear the concern in Hawke's voice, and it fed his dwindling hope. This was really the last thing he wanted. "Absolutely nothing," he lied.

The big mage was frowning at him. "Are you getting sick?"

_Sick... Yes he was definitely sick of something_. Anders pushed back from the table, chair scraping noisily. "Maybe... I'm going home." He directed a nod at Varric, then turned for the door.

"I'll walk you," Hawke said, who didn't understand, but who could see something was wrong and was concerned.

Anders wanted to tell him not to. He knew that was what he should have done. But he couldn't make himself say it. Maker help him, he craved any moment with Hawke. He said nothing, weaving through the crowded tavern and pushing out the door and into the rain.

Hawke said something briefly to the other two before following, catching up to him and walking at his side, waiting for him to speak.

Anders couldn't make himself say anything. _What could he possibly tell Hawke? The truth? No. Hawke had to know. He HAD to._

They stepped out into the rain and Hawke shrugged out of his shirt again, tossing it over Anders' head - not holding it over the both of them like he had with Fenris, Anders was too tall, but offering some cover anyway. Anders stopped, pulling it off and holding it out to Hawke. "I prefer to feel the rain," he said seriously.

Hawke blinked, surprised, but took it back, folding it over his arm as his brows knit.

Anders didn't miss the expression and rather than chance offending or otherwise hurting Hawke's feelings, he explained. "Shut up in the Tower for years, things like rain falling on you become surreal. When I got out, it was one of my favorite things. Still is. I appreciate your gesture, Hawke, but I would rather feel the rain, if it's all the same to you." They were alone on the street in the downpour, so he had no fear of speaking so openly.

"Sure," he said. "Makes sense, I guess. You gonna talk to me about the real issue?"

He half turned, eyes shifting toward the slick paving stones underfoot. "No."

Hawke sighed, jaw setting.

"Go back inside, Hawke. Your friends are waiting for you." Anders turned to head toward the passage to Darktown.

"And you're not my friend?" He countered, following.

Anders stiffened. The question like a blade slicing into his heart. "I am," he answered quietly. "I'm trying to be."

"Then what's going on? You don't want me around?"

Another stab of pain. "I..."

Hawke stopped, his expression turned to granite.

_I always want you around, Hawke. I love you, can't you see_ that? "I do... You're important to me."

Hawke watched him for a moment. "I'm here for you, Anders," he said, voice hard.

Anders turned to face Hawke, his hair dark and damp and plastered to his head. "I know. I'm sorry. I can't really explain..."

"If there's something I can do, something you need help with, and you don't tell me..."

Anders wanted to cry. He wanted to scream and gnash his teeth. He wanted to laugh in Hawke's face. But he only nodded, and lifted a hand to pat one thick arm. "If it were as easy as asking you, Hawke, I'd have done. Please, this isn't dangerous. It's not affecting anyone." _But me._ "Please trust me. I cannot talk about this. It's..." He shook his head.

He huffed out his breath, low and thick, and shook his head, clearly displeased. "All right," he said reluctantly. _Hawke fixed things. He took care of those he cared about. He even took care of a lot of people he didn't care about. Backing off was...impossible._

Anders was soaked clean through, now. Not that he minded. What he did mind was that look on Hawke's face. He had to give him something. "Look, whatever you think this is, I assure you, it's not that bad. This is just a ...personal matter. You know...relationship type of thing?"

"Alright," he allowed, though he wasn't mollified. He began to walk again, catching Anders' elbow.

Anders was ushered along by the implacable Hawke, wondering what the man thought of his explanation. _Did he even have a clue? He had to. He HAD to..._

Hawke was silent as he hauled him along, through the winding streets, down to Darktown. It was only as he stood, dripping, outside the clinic that he spoke. "Whoever it is," Hawke said. "Make sure they treat you right. They'll answer to me if they don't."

Anders stared at him, eyes dull with pain. His face wanted to crumple, but he refused. He REFUSED. "They treat me just fine," he forced out. "They just don't return my feelings for them."

_Surely he didn't mean.......Fenris?_ Hawke only nodded. "I'm sorry."

Anders did crumple then, but immediately lifted his hands to his face. "Please, **don't**."

Hawke clenched and unclenched his hands, feeling helpless. "I don't...know how to help," he admitted.

"Do you see?" Anders forced his voice to be strong, clear, though it was thick with emotion. "This was why I couldn't tell you... To what end? You can't change things, even should you want to."

The muscle in his jaw worked. Hawke stepped back. "Right," he said. "See you later, then, I guess."

"When you need me," Anders answered, turning toward his door.

"Just...take some time, Anders."

He made a noncommittal sound and let himself into the dark clinic, turning to watch Hawke with one reddened eye through the crack between door and frame.

Hawke loitered for a moment, jaw hard, hands clenched, until he finally turned and walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst intensifies!! I'm sorry this is so short. That was the trade off for the previous one being so long. :/


	21. Chapter 21

Anders did take some time.

In fact, he took weeks of time to focus on his work, rather than seeking out Hawke, or any of his other friends for that matter. It was not his clinic which held his attention though. Instead, an ever sharpening focus on the Mage Underground. With the full support of Justice, he took an increasingly active role in the planning and executing of rescue operations, as well as the running of escapees out of the city. There was always a nigh endless list of arrangements to be made and handled, people to be paid off to help or to look the other way. Every spare scrap of coin Anders hadn't poured into the clinic, he now funneled into the Underground. Every waking moment was spent meeting with apostates and allies, penning, copying, and distributing his manifesto, and of course, he never turned away any who walked through his doors seeking the healer.

When Hawke inevitably came by, seeking a hand with a job, he still dropped everything - but his pretense that all was well - and followed the man into the darkest of places, figuratively as well as literally. But when the job was done, he always made his excuses and went back to the warrens of Darktown. To bury his pain in activism.

And so it was that the healer found himself a day with nothing to do. He'd had to cool it with the Underground, for Templars had recently been snooping around Darktown, chasing rumors of apostates hiding amongst the unfortunates. It also happened that this was fifth day since he'd last seen or heard from Hawke. The FIFTH. Not that Anders was keeping track. He paced up and down the length of his clinic, chewing on his lip as he turned it over in his mind.

Five days wasn't an unsual stretch of time, these days, what with his avoiding the Hanged Man. Hawke was busy, clearly, and Anders didn't want to seek him out. But those bloody Templars... They were closing in on him, and he had to do something.

He stopped pacing, ignoring the impulse to _seek and destroy the Templars_. He knew where it came from and knew it to be foolish and dangerous. He would go to Hawke. Tell him, as he should have days ago, _if only he'd seen him... But he didn't want to, not really. Did he? No. No..._

By now Anders was quite familiar with the various pathways one could take from Darktown to nearly every other part of Kirkwall. There was one that brought him to Hightown not terribly far from Hawke's estate, and he used it, shortening the trip drastically. The healer soon found himself at his destination and knocked. It was early and the city wasn't terribly busy yet. Still, he found himself pressed to a wall outside the door, attempting not to be obvious.

It was Bodhan who answered, blinking to find the man pressed to the door. "Oh, serah, I do apologize. Do you require a moment longer with the door?"

Anders frowned. "What? No, I was just..." He huffed. "Is Hawke in?"

"Oh, Messere Hawke is indeed," he nodded. "It's so nice for him to be getting so many guests lately. He took his breakfast in his room this morning."

"Oh, is he ah, available? I don't want to impose. But I do need to speak with him. May I speak with him?"

"Oh I'm sure he'd be happy to see you serah. Just go on up."

Anders nodded and stepped in past the dwarf, through the foyer an into the large formal living room. He climbed the staircase and stepped to the door to Hawke's room, pausing to listen a moment, then knocked.

Whatever answer came was muffled and groaned, a halfhearted moan of "What?" 

Anders cracked the door, and peeked inside. "Hawke? Are you alright?"

It was quite a sight that greeted him. Hawke was still abed, laying crosswise with his head near the foot and his feet near the top corner, tangled in sheets with little more than a bare, slightly hairy ass sticking out of the mess. He lifted his head when the door opened and blinked blearily. His untouched breakfast waited on the nightstand.

Anders stared for a moment, blinked, then came in, closing the door behind him as he approached Hawke on the bed. "Are you sick? What are your symptoms? You should have sent for me!"

"Not sick," he mumbled, disappearing momentarily as he pressed his face into the pillow again. "What do you want?"

Despite those words, Anders cast a minor healing spell over his friend. As it settled, likely doing little other than give the man a little boost of energy he could put to good use sulking, Anders said, "Ah, well... I needed to talk to you about something but, you seem a bit preoccupied..."

He lifted his head again. There were dark circles under his eyes. He frowned at Anders, certainly looking exhausted, or hungover, or miserable, or something. "What?"

Anders hesitated, concern for Hawke overwhelming any for himself. "Maker, Hawke, is everything alright? You look awful."

"No, yeah," he said, sitting up, pulling the pillow into his lap for halfhearted modesty, scratching the rats nest of his hair. There were odd scratches on his shoulders, light pink after the healing spell. "No, fine, sorry, what do you need?"

Anders blinked at the scratches, then took in the state of the bed, and Hawke's now obvious fatigue, the dark circles. His brows furrowed, mouth flattened into a line, even as his face heated. "Forget it. I shouldn't have come." He turned for the door, and felt himself begin to come apart.

"Hey- hey!" Hawke hurried from the bed, still holding the pillow before his crotch as he caught the other mage's arm.

Anders froze as Hawke's hand closed around his arm. He didn't move, didn't look back. Could not. "There...are Templars in Darktown. They're onto me. I'm going to have to move someplace safer..." His voice came out cold and inhuman. Like Justice.

"And you were just going to leave without telling me?" Hawke demanded.

"I'm telling you now." He said, face still turned away.

"But you were going to leave," he said, voice hard.

"...Yes."

 Hawke frowned, his hand gripping him more tightly. "That's stupid," he said. "We need to talk to Varric, and Aveline."

Anders didn't answer him. He was very aware that Hawke was nude and at his side, but he couldn't rouse even a curious interest. There was what felt like a raw hole in his chest, gaping and bleeding. Justice radiated strong disapproval, and pushed closer to the surface. "They've been down there for days. Days that I haven't seen you."

"You should have come sooner," he said.

"I'm here now."

Hawke's eyes were molten gold, tired and furious. It was taking everything in him to put himself aside for his friend. Hawke, who would go to any length for those under his protection, who now felt like he was coming apart. "Stop it," he snarled. "Do you want my help or not?"

Anders swallowed. He didn't want Hawke's help. But needed it, direly in fact. But he couldn't look at the man, could hardly make himself speak.  
"Yes, I... I didn't know where else to go. I didn't mean to intrude. I know you have your own ...things going on, and I don't want to be a burden..."

"When have I ever said you were?"

Ever so slowly, he turned his face back to Hawke. But he could not look in his eyes. Instead, his gaze drifted to what was surely scratch marks on the man's shoulders. He tried not to flinch from the thought, from the mental images.

Hawke noted the direction of his gaze and his lips pressed into a thin line. "It's nothing."

Anders nodded, eyes averting. "I'll wait for you downstairs," he said.

Hawke stared at him a moment longer, then released him. He nodded.

Anders all but fled the room, barely holding it together as he reached the stair. _It wasn't like Hawke had ever shown an interest in him. It wasn't like the man was ever his to begin with._ Justice's disapproval was potent.

"Oh, serah, should I fire up some breakfast for you?" Bodhan asked as he passed.

He shook his head, moving through the living room and out to the foyer where he collapsed on a bench and buried his face in his hands. After a few moments, it occurred to Anders that if Hawke had, at long last, decided to sleep with someone - _with Fenris, obviously_ \- oughtn't he be in a better mood?

Hawke came down shortly, dressed in green flannel, strapping his staff on his back. "We'll pick up Aveline and Fenris on the way," he said. There was an edge to his voice on the elf's name.

When Hawke spoke, Anders hadn't missed that tension, and it made him wonder. He rose, feeling more in control of himself and his emotions, which were still ragged with jealousy and a dwindling disbelief - because, he had to be honest with himself, _it had been fairly inevitable._

"Alright," he answered, following Hawke.

Unfortunately Fenris was the closer. Outside his mansion Hawke stopped, staring at the door for several moments.

Anders looked on, bemused. "Is...something the matter?"

His frown deepened. Hawke lifted his hand to knock.

It was only a few moments. Fenris looked rough when he opened the door. Tired, miserable, tormented. He looked initially alarmed to see Hawke before he managed to guard his expression. He wouldn't meet Hawke's eyes.

"Up for work?" Hawke asked.

The elf almost looked relieved. He nodded silently.

Anders watched all of it with an almost clinical detachment, which meant that Justice was in control and he was the passenger. _Something had happened between them. Something that was not good._ Perhaps Anders had misjudged the evidence. He doubted that, but had no ideas that could explain this palpable tension. It was going to be a long, miserable day for everyone, it seemed.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by my friend Kaer, and her amazing Dragon Age 2 fenhawke fanfic Friendly Concern, I decided to try my hand at some fanfiction, as well. It’s meant to be a spinoff of the above fic, only, centralized on an angsty Anders. I’ve written loads of RP and OC stories, but this is my first fanfic, so bear with me. (Or not! You don’t have to read it! c:)


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